Starlight leaks through clouds that weep,
While shadows crawl and silence creep...
My vision may be going
but my hope will never leave...
Even though the sound of my cries
Can only be heard in my mind...
How could you spend all those months
Pursuing me, just to end up confusing me...
Yes, it has occurred to me
That I haven't been able to look at a recent...
Grief does not knock.
It shoulders the door...
The saddest tears are the driest ones seen in the bravest smile. |
Don't tell one who writes of grief to rethink their "I" statements. When you know they had tears on their hands as they wrote, don't say the poem could be better. You might as well say their grief could be worse. |
If someone shares a poem with you that is meant to help close an open wound, they don't want your opinion. They want your hand on their shoulder, gripping it tight. |