There is a pain so utter

It swallows substance up

And covers the abyss with trance

Emily Dickinson



This loss of which we do not speak

Lies silently obscured

At the centre of things

When we meet it is there

Heavy in the laden wordless spaces

We revolve around

Each of us in our different ways

Not knowing

What this dance of attack

Avoidance and defence

Is truly all about

We can’t quite bear

To feel the painful truth of it

Our fear creates distance

Becomes the propeller

Of pain

That drives us

Each in our separate ways

On an unending spiral

Away from trust, truth

And the deeper connection

We so silently long for

And so we circle

Sometimes meeting

Sometimes repelled so far away

By a wordless nameless dread

The shadow of all

Our soul dimly remembers

This phantom

Hovers over all of our encounters

Like a ghost

Who longs to be known



And finally laid to rest

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