Finding Loss

 

Finding Loss

 

 

When we first know the beginning of loss -

Is it at child’s last grasp at fantasy?

Or perhaps when discipline is a cause

To follow in harrowed lunacy?

 

When is loss the first and last infancy

To still the pained soul into a dark place?

And years and more years of cold dormancy

Become crying eyes of a pained blank face.

 

This then; a heart calloused beyond a trace

And meanings transcend a life’s final truth:

That a day is no more than just one lace

That ties age; loss to a fanciful youth.

 

This then - shall not be taken as uncouth

Nor as discordant notes to a love song

But instead - meditations for kind ruth:

That all is forgiven. Life is not long.