Empty Spaces

It’s been several weeks since yesterday,
tho’ now the time has come,
to offer you this one.
a small token
to share the grief
of life, its hell
that we all know,
all too damn well.

And here’s to grief
that shapes us,
makes us,
that we are,
in a world that leaves us
too many,
O, far too many,
empty spaces.

In life as in death . . .

quick as the next breath

the Time will come–

for you, or a loved one–

a time to let go

to say goodbye

. . . then, thou heart will wither,

from whither love goes.

And little by little,

slowly pain grows

as the lines on your face

in your eyes it shows,

from the love you’ve known,

to the love you’ve shown.

Yesterday, was such a day

I buried yet another,

another small animal friend.

She meant a great deal to me,

as all my friends do.

But more than they,

I was her world, entire.

Her beginning,

her ending,

and all that transpire.

She would have gave her life for me,

if need be–

I know.

Yet it was all I could do,

to shower her

with mourning fresh dew.

Softly–slowly–softly

I lay her

in ground fresh turned.

Another loss learned.

Again, left to say goodbye.

Goodbye.

And I . . .

I shoveled earth into my father’s grave,

on a day, ten years now gone away,

and dug more small holes,

than I care to know.

And with each I fill,

one open in my heart.

And what to fill these empty spaces!

O how I tire of digging.

O how I weary of living.

Though soon I’ll be dead,

when life I’ll have read.

But not yet,

no . . . not yet.

Tho’ I near the end

my shovel depend

on empty spaces

having yet no end.