Loss, Felt

Do not worry for our sake- we who gather here to mourn
will outlast this coming tempest, will survive this passing storm.
When all the cities crumble, and the word of doom is spelt,
the last lips speak of loss, and your loss is equally felt.

Now sleep! Rest your head within the earth, shielded from the sun –
and sorrow,
which was stitched upon your soul,
will no more greet you on the morrow.


This poem was originally written for a puppet’s funeral.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s