Oil by: Albert Francis King 1854–1945
~
moonlight
keeps dark at bay
pressing in
as night wind stirs
like mocking breath
of life now lost
to light-less realm
beyond the chill
encircling me
I ache
to feel
your tender touch
the warmth
but naught
my heart
cold
and empty
to remain
no emotion
save grief
apples spilled
on broken stair
where rail eluded
grasping hand
no voice came
to futile cry
those lips
will not know again
sweet fruit
nor love
~ ~ ~
rob kistner © 2018
Very good. The hand rail that eluded grasp … ending in disaster!
Yes… and she ruined a damned fine bunch of apples… 😉
Apples have been giving women trouble for a very long time :)) Nicely captured, Rob.
Yes, I guess they have, for certain. 😉 Thank you for the compliment Jo-Anne.
I think there is a link between grief and the longing for the touch of the loved one. It’s very primal. I guess touch is our first communication of love. You draw that connection out beautifully.
It is Sarah, yes. Being able to hold your child, or snuggle a puppy, or being given the permission of intimacy with another adult, a lover – it is transformative, it actual alters the chemicals in the brain, and creates a feeling of deep well being, even euphoria. When we lose that connection with someone we cherish, it is devastating, and can have prolonged negative impact, not only emotionally, but physically. Reaching to touch and being unable to is unbearable. Like you wrote so accurately – it’s a primal need. I lost my 18-year-old son in 1995. It almost literally killed me. A heart attack and severe exacerbation of my diabetes. The health issues were effectively managed, and still are. But it took a number of years to acheive a bearable level of emotional recovery. It was the love bond among myself, my wife, and my surviving daughter and son that kept us sane. Now we all share warm sweet memories of our Aaron, and the hurt only rears its head occasionally. Touch is a gift beyond measure. Sorry for rattling on Sarah.
The grief of no more touch of a loved one, especially one taken so quickly. No time to prepare a heart, if in fact, that is ever possible. To not touch what has been touched, to not touch what has never been touched, a stillborn child, as in my case x2. No time erases or heals, only something greater day by day. A beautiful, tender write.
Thank you Mary. Loss of love, experienced or anticipated, is the loss of a piece of one’s heart – so hard to reconcile. Peace to you…
The apples spilled on the stairs … what a stark story you have hidden in that loss…
I went for sparseness to amplify the sudden impact of grief Bjorn, something that hits hard, anticipated or not…
Ominous thought: “no voice came
to futile cry”
Frank, to know that a loved one died alone, our not being there, for me is horrifying…
That grief is so stark and deep. Love this part best:
apples spilled
on broken stair
where rail eluded
grasping hand
Thank you for visiting and commenting. I am pleased this touched you Grace. For me, being in touch with grief may shine the brightest light on the deepest of love…