The relentless barbs on the circle of endless grief sting and bite and chant, “When, oh when?” Oh, what hopeless fools we become when we believe only that which we can touch and see. There must be more…or else…whatever are we waiting for? Some live in ignorance of the true sting of grief. An acquaintance dies and they assume they are experts on grief. Hope…it dies. Grief…it never dies; nor does love. The intricate web of existence forever intertwines love and grief. Regardless of what I do in waking state, there, in the hidden recesses of my soul, a tiny voice reminds me that I was once loved. It also whispers that I will never be loved that way again. And as I drift into slumber tight in the cold embrace of misery, it whispers, “Soon, very soon.” All the while, the relentless barbs sting and bite and chant, “When, when, oh when?” And my soul cries out, “Please, please,” but no one hears the desperate silent cries of the bereaved.
The end of another year is yet another painful reminder of the sorrow solitude carries. Visions of memories that could have been built glimmer as multifaceted prisms within the mind. The shimmering beauty captivates the eye and the heart. Forlorn souls can only watch as the mesmerizing prisms fall and shatter into a million tiny slivers of lost hope. And at the stroke of midnight that heralds in a new year, while most are in the arms of love, the bereaved are in the arms of agony. The forlorn souls will sleep in the cold embrace of misery tonight and every night beyond.