Losing faster

 

 

Loss cannot be explained,

 

Elizabeth Bishop tried by saying, the art of losing

isn’t hard to master,  She’s right it isn’t hard,

it is thrust upon you with the sound of a gun,

the pull of a choke collar, cancer in the body.

 

The feelings

or the lack thereof

remain long after the world would have you moving on.

The ashes have been scattered.

It is time to go back to work.

 

That’s when despair takes over

Black holes that close in on themselves and expand

Into eternity;

and all the clichés of creeping fog

Dark clouds, grim reaper

have been used.

 

You are left with No Words.

 

I realize, for all of my poet friends, that this is not

a poem.

 

It is a rant!

 

Raging against the night as Dylan Thomas demanded his dad should do.

I am tired of raging And crying,

I am tired of losing faster, faster, still faster.

Within each loss is the history of all That came before.

One giant gaping hole that screams, then moans,

then wishes for release. To leave the sphere that causes so

much pain, so often and so near.

I am finished trying to explain what can’t be said.

Too much, too often, too close

 

********************************************

 

 

 

 

,

Black holes that close in on themselves and expand

Into eternity;

The falling into despair is such a death

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