Tag Archive | grief; random; writing; literature; poems; blogging

Autumn and Spring


I was leaves floating on the wind,
Reds, greens, and yellows floating gracefully,
Joining in that annual farewell dance.
I was cool, brisk mornings, foreshadowing
Cold winter days to come
And kissing the carefree summer nights goodbye.
You were the bright colors bursting forth
After the winter killed the fathers and mothers
That left their seeds in the rich, fertile earth.
You were the warm March breeze
Foreshadowing the carefree summer nights to come.
When you and I would kiss happiness goodbye.
How could you and I ever stay together
With winter always keeping us apart?
How I long to stay afloat on the air with you
Where seasons never end
And happiness forever embraces us.
Just to kiss you again.
©2014 Relinda R.


from “Into the Darkness”

“Alone. Yes, that’s the key word, the most awful word in the English tongue. Murder doesn’t hold a candle to it and hell is only a poor synonym.” ~Stephen King


She looked at me with all the compassion she could muster when she told me I had to move on without him. And I longed to whisper, “Be very careful when you wish for my silence, because your wish may come true,” but I only looked at the ground. What could I possibly say—it was over? I was done? Death took my love from me?—there was nothing I could say, there was no way in which to explain how empty I felt or how bleak the future appeared. It didn’t matter what I said—I was alone.

Whether I saw it happen or not—it happened—the day he died, I began dying too. As I watched the light fade from his eyes, it began fading from mine too. All the times we stood gazing into each other’s eyes—all the times I told him I could sink into his blue eyes—all the times he told me that my brown eyes just knew—everything—had seen everything. . . and now the light faded. For nearly five years, the light continued to flicker, but now—the light is dead.

I must have read a thousand pieces telling me how to grieve, but grief has a mind of its own. There is not a manual specific to every case—there is not a set of instructions—each soul is alone in its grief. Some recover; some do not. I’ve faced the inevitable truth of my own grief—I struggle to live without love. I love still—my children, my parents, my family, my friends—there is still love, but I no longer know the love of a man so that he sees the world in my eyes. There is no passion in my life, no one will ever think I am beautiful or that my soul is made of light. The light is dead.

It took a long time for me to realize that there is no way to explain my loss to others. It is impossible for them to understand what life is without passion and love, because they have it. They claim understanding, but they claim it from the embrace of their lover. For me, life is empty without passion, without my love. The light of life is dead.

I have nothing left to give. I grieved through my words, believing they would help me heal, but the wound is so deep that it will not heal. I’ve put all my energy into overcoming human frailty—overcoming the need for affection—overcoming the need to be loved. I think I’ve beat it. I no longer cling to an idea that I have a future; I’ve accepted that I will spend the rest of my days in solitude—alone. Accepting it is the easy part—eliminating the yearning for affection is the most difficult task I’ve undertaken. But I agreed. On some level—I agreed. On some subconscious level beyond my memory—I agreed. I accept my fate, but if only I could move beyond the human shell I inhabit and overcome all the emotion. Mechanical? Perhaps, but it would be so easy to continue. I function in the dark now, so on some level; the transformation is underway.

I’ve read so many articles and papers on what solitude does to the human being, so I accept my plight with full knowledge of the danger. They say it cannot be done, but I am an anomaly to the species—I can do it. I can march through the seasons, alone and cold. For reasons unknown to me—it is my only choice. I surrender to solitude, but I will not surrender to rhetoric. They say it cannot be done; I say that it can be done.


The girl I was once is dead. She battled so hard to stay alive, but defeat was inevitable. No one can look beyond the physical scars to feel attraction to her—no one can reach beyond the emotional scars to save her—she is gone. How upsetting it is that people believe strength comes from solitude. Perhaps it does when solitude is a choice, but when you find yourself alone because of death, your strength only comes from struggling to survive. I’ve given up trying to explain to people that there is a difference in finding moments alone, while someone who loves you is waiting for you and living every moment alone while no one waits.

It is impossible to explain what life devoid of passion and love is like after knowing it so thoroughly. Perhaps if I’d never known, the transition would be much easier, but having known it is like having manna from the gods, and then starving without it. There are those of us who fail to present beauty in its societal form. There are those of us who only attract one person. One man loved me completely, regardless of how I looked to the rest of the world. Then fate took him from me, and left me to exist alone. They say, “Beauty is in the eye of the beholder,” well, he was my “beholder.” He saw past the scars and through the demons to my soul, and loved me anyway.


Words were my vice—I loved to write—but without anyone listening—my words are empty now. They are only words, and they are not reaching anyone. I crave the feedback that he gave to me—and it no longer exists. I am finished. How happy others will be to know that I’ve finally accepted the challenge fate gave to me—I accept my mission wholeheartedly—to embrace the solitude in all its darkness and complete my work in silence. No one will ever love me or hold me again. The long, cold years have hardened me. No one will ever laugh at my silly jokes or hold my hand when I am scared. He is gone, and I walk alone . . . into the darkness. Until I see him again.

©2014 Relinda R.

Excerpt from “Delusional Illusions”

ImageWhenever he looked into my eyes, he looked into my soul and I felt loved. Even on my worst days, I felt like the most beautiful girl in the world because he believed that to be true. Whenever he wrapped his strong arms around me, I felt safe. I will never feel beautiful again. Vanity? No, just humanity. No one sees into my soul anymore. No one dares to look into my eyes. There is nothing there anymore.

Every now and then, I imagine that I will wake up one day. Then, I remember that I have not slept in years. And the fleeting moments in which I think this nightmare will end are rare now.

©2014 Relinda R.


The Abyss

The Abyss

Speak of an abyss of infinite depth,

A bottomless chasm with no escape.

A darkness so bleak that only misery can grow,

Speak of that and call it hell if you will,

But do not say that you could possibly know

Of the existence of this abyss unless you take

The endless road down into the pit.

There is no end in sight to the grief,

Which consumes the dying soul.

Only loneliness fills the ever increasing hole.

Tomorrows do not exist within the bottomless pit,

Only moments containing memories forever gone.

The sun does not shine into the abyss,

Neither does the rain comfort the thirst.

Only dark and dreary clouds float about,

Reminders that life is filled with doubt.

This is hell…this is now…there is no relief,

Only scattered fragments of heaven’s memories.

Happiness was an illusion to fulfill the prophecies.

An illusion merely to make hell sting so much more.

And sting it does…and there is no relief in sight,

Only the promise of the emptiness that will come

In the darkness and the still of the night.

So speak of hell if you must,

But damn well know what it may be.

It is not a burning fire lit from above,

Nor is it eternal punishment for being free.

It is a pain so intense that loneliness consumes optimism.

And optimism ceases to exist.

And tomorrows hold no hope at all,

And there is no ladder to escape from this abyss.

There is no magic door back home again.

It is the final farewell fall.

It is an abyss of infinite depth,

A darkness so bleak that only misery can grow.

A darkness so hopeless that a soul wishes for death,

If only to end the hopelessness it knows.

So speak of that and call it hell if you will,

But do not say that you could possibly know

Of this loneliness unless you have walked

The path down this endless road.

And when you’ve reached for every rope,

Exhausted every possible route to escape,

Then talk to me about what you know,

And yield to the knowledge that this is hell.

The Mystery of Eternity

The Mystery of Eternity


The sharp sting of death is so very painful

The shattering loneliness is even more so.

But I know within the depths of my heart

You are never very far from me

Even though we are now apart.

I struggle on facing each new day

Knowing that you are only a few steps away.

I feel your touch in the rain

And I hear your laughter in the wind.

It helps to quell the unbearable pain

And still the endless yearning for you.

Your memory lives on all around me

In the air and in the trees.

It is the mystery of eternity.

And in the dark of the night

When I close my eyes

I can see your smile…

Until the first morning light.

It is the mystery of eternity.

I know that each step I take

You are walking right beside me

Never letting go…

I never did say goodbye,

I only said, “I’ll see you soon.”

You didn’t die, you only moved on.

I feel your presence all around me.

Our souls are eternal and I know I will see you again.

It is the mystery

and the promise

of eternity.