I’ll sleep through the night, won’t wake up in the fetal position
head pounding in the rhythm of despair and dread.
What will save me from this acid torch in my gut every
November fourth? What will make the day just slip by without
grief or remembrance of a son that brought me pure joy.
How long does loss hang on and haunt those left behind?
How long before his precious face that comes to me in dreams
brings me joy in remembrance rather than the ache of absence.
This year was the
life is good; this is a perfect dayruse.
The air is cool, the sun is shining and I planned an eveningday. The
I won’t think, won’t acknowledge any painday.
This isn’t the year I hit on the right combination, the right ploy
to make this just another day of cool weather and blue skies.
Maybe next year will be the year I find my way.
November 4, 2009