Plus Grief Season | Edge of Courage

FAREWELL TO A GOOD FRIEND

Grief Season
By David W Sweet

Does grief ever announce itself?
How sneaky it is . . .
Just when you believed it was gone,
Sure you were in the clear,
A part of life you dread
Raises its ugly head.

It’s not bigger,
It is, however,
A part of you.
Fight it, or give in and
Bow to the hollowness.
Do you have a choice?

When it visits,
Words fail its depth;
Yet experiencing it
Means to live on—
To move forward.

Can you hold it as such,
Honoring the feeling?
Can you let it go
To slip away
In its own time?

Does it deserve gratitude,
This signpost of life’s shadows
Posted for all to see
And feel?

Does it deserve thanks
For reminding us that
We are still here?
Maybe later—
Maybe not at all.

Goodbye Chances . . . 9-1-1
By David Sweet; to honor all those who died and are still dying.

This morning the sun first announced its existence
By turning the horizon golden —
Wonderful reds, purples, oranges.

Then it stopped.
For a minute or two the sky was light;
However, blank with no color,
Just a curious gray,
Almost lifeless,
Yet heavy enough to ponder,
To weigh on the mind.
Like seeing liquid in a barrel
And something tells you not to
Put your finger in it —
Leave it alone.
Just look;
Pass it by.

How could the sky be like this?
Oh yes, I forgot,
It’s a day of mourning.
But I really didn’t forget;
I just tried to put it someplace
Where it wouldn’t hurt so much.
But these conditions of man
Won’t be buried so easily,
Neither within my mind
Nor with tears in the shower.

Maybe the blank sky
Was as a mirror of time,
Finding for a moment
Nothing worthy to reflect.

Maybe the missing beams
Were absorbed by the
Darkness of fear
Or lack of trust.

Maybe still,
Perhaps the souls who left
Received the missing light —
Prayers heard and answered,
A sign of thanks.

Suddenly, as if to end the blink,
The wonderful glow of colors returned,
Spreading across the sky,
Again properly announcing the coming day.
Ahh . . . another chance.

Amen
By David W Sweet

It all comes back . . .
is it a thread, a photo,
a painting, a shadow,
a glance?

Remembering a moment:
going back in time to feel;
recalling the joy
and the heart of it all.

It stays,
it surrounds.

It’s not easy at times to call back.
The hurt makes itself known;
however, it’s yours
and it’s meant to be.

So thank each,
and thank them all
for the good, the bad,
and the memories.

It’s your power to know.
You’re made for it
and no one can take
that from you.

Thank you, God.
Amen.