I miss you

Can you hear my heart break

Or is this silence too loud?

Since you began to lie to me

How can I believe what I hear?

Scream the truth, shout your pain

Be real, even if only to yourself

I miss my friend so very much

Come back, for yourself, please

Or for those who miss you

I am truly here for you, I am

I hope, through it all, you can see

Please let me be there for you

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The Textile of Sadness

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i

There is a textile of sadness

It drapes heavily over the body

The colours are somber, very dark

Saturated in tears, deepening the hue

ii

It drapes like a full length cloak

Smothering the slighter form of the wearer

Head to toe, no light able to intrude the gloom

Increasing the pale pallor of those adorned in it

iii

It smells of wet dog, left on its own to dry

Inadequate drying time bolstering the odor

It has a penchant to grow black mould

Resulting in spores erupting all over its surface

iv

There is no tie dye effect able to lesson the dark

No light colours of joy bleeding through

The dark hue is a solid colour block throughout

No hint of the person struggling beneath peers out

v

It is time to shrug it off, throw it to the floor

Step clear of its weighty shadows, walking free

Wearing it only as an accessory, like a funereal requirement

For appropriate moments, before returning it to the wardrobe

vi

Sadness is a textile that needs to be confined

To those moments when appropriate but as a visitor

Not the enduring textile of our lives, worn forever more

To reduce the risk of permanence wash with bleach

The Texture of Sadness

I disappointed myself yesterday and somehow it led to a flood of “dark” poems.

I find it less distressing to write in verse than in long form.

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i

The texture of sadness is …

Never ending bone deep weariness

The cloying scent of despair

The moisture grooved cheeks

Depositories of endless tears

ii

Sadness grows from many origins

They blend and blur together over time

The grief of lost family and friends

The sorrow of opportunity buried

Deep beneath the path not taken

iii

The depression of loneliness and despair

Burrowing deep under the skin, smothering

So despairing, alone, we seek any escape

Not asking for help or admitting to the need

We are drowning in our own solitude

iv

We display the stoic, frozen facial expression

Faking the aesthetic of happy contentment

Revealed false in the downcast eyes, the hidden truth

Looking back, the future shrouded, the now a quagmire

The struggle to engage, to even breathe, let alone be happy

v

The wistful looks to the past, mourning what passed

The maudlin thoughts, bleakly stuck in one place

The bitter tears bringing the endless headache

The abyss of sleep, with false promise of dreams

The cold harsh reality, rinse and repeat the pain

vi

The texture of sadness, encompassing current reality

Devoid of ‘real’ happiness, the apparent norm for others

The absence of simple pleasure, no automatic smile

Heading straight to the negative, never believing the potential

Surrendering to the reality of now, seeing no tomorrow

vii

The illusion that tomorrow will be a better day

That no tears will fall, unless of sheer joy

Gaining the freedom to smile and to laugh

Trusting that they are not fleeting, superficial

Capable of feeling more than the texture of sadness