The sacrament of sorrow
After the box opened, allowing us to walk again
among the most of the living and some of the dead,
we lifted each other up so often and so high
that he were forced to begin practicing to fall.
But while we were at such great heights,
and searching for a common god,
I used my telescope to locate the future
while you cleaned your magnifying glass
for a closer look at today.
Together we discovered that, while
I am the occasional crack of light
under your sometimes closed door,
you are the thing that I miss so much
during desolation and desperation
as if sorrow was a sacrament.
But even at the lowest times hope hangs midair,
unmoving like last week’s party balloon.
With another pump of our past, and a
pinch of courage between my cheek and gum,
we regain our height and I collect for you
tails of shooting stars that you bend
like neon tubes into an arrow pointing at
‘Sacrament of Sorrow’ is contained in my collection titled, “Self Inflicted Heart Shaped Wounds” – available at Amazon in paperback and ebook.
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