full

a free form poem that i found very cathartic to write.

Facing the black hood,

Desperately i should

Have mourned should have cried.

Yet nothing came out, i barely tried.

Grief stricken i was not - the space in my stomach where it should have settled - 

was already full of thought.

Full

He returned once again, taking another's hand.

And again, it was myself i couldn't stand.

Tried as i might to weep and to sob,

It was by no means an easy job.

Is it always this way? Is it possible for ones soul to fill with sorrow - sorrow so deep it's unable to be dislodged? - so full no more can fit... even to this day?

Guilty fool

Author's Note

this is my first attempt at poetry aha

Reviews

[John the Baptist]

This one comes across as self reproach for not having felt badly enough about the death of another, and seemingly this occurred on more than one occasion. Grief would not come, but guilt did. The circumstances are not discussed, but the feeling is that the deceased were close to the speaker. The events apparently occurred some time ago, but the guilt still lingers. This one sounds like therapy is in order.