Under the cover of silence

I wrote this post about four weeks ago.  I have found that the grief under the cover of silence I was sensing has reared its head.  Illness came ten days after I wrote this, it was partly due to unresolved grief on my lungs and affected my gut where tender feelings were buried.  I am sharing this today to liberate it from exile in drafts

Under the cover of silence This grief that we cannot speak lives Curled and coiled like a serpent waiting to rise Feeling the pressure of passing years Like a dead weight upon it formed of dread Unreconciled losses broken dreams Lying here

When we met today the talk turned to golden coins My father bought to help the children years ago comes into your mind I feel my eyes brimming with tears for the silent father I never knew Who was full of all kinds of hopes dreams feelings and kindnesses I will now never know And I am aware of the deeper loss you carry in your heart for a man I feel I never truly knew

Pain like a brace around my heart Contracting contracting Which feelings do I trust?Only this grief?  All the questioning so many questions laying scattered around me unspoken questions upon questions with no answers

Later I am drawn back to lonely childhood afternoons Waiting for you to come home We never spoke But oh I needed you Echoes of longing stretching so far along a corridor of years to childhood’s past Where you wandered the streets alone With pennies for sweets The only touch you knew The kind touch of the pharmacist who cleaned wax from your ears

Today when we meet Tears rise up from your aching soul And you tell me how tired you are Yes Mum the suffering and grief you have known also has no home Oh how I long to be that for you, for is that not love? It hurts to know the pain you carry in silence alone

And so the serpent rears its head only hoping to be known Not meaning at all to cast upon any soul a feel of terrible dread After all it only consists of skins that long to be shed

Late afternoon sun casts shadows back here in my home Panic attacks come and its hard to breathe Is this just past pain imprints or intimations of feelings longing to be known?

No one will ever know the desperation at times living besieged by body symptoms I never will fully understand knowing them perhaps only to be the cry of a body unheld longing to be

And so in the absence of company I write It is the only relief Sometimes it seems to me a force was always there holding my head under water Not allowing me to be free A terrible undertow I fought with all my might But which in calling me makes me long instead for a deeper surrender or slumber Glorious extinction But What must happen for there to be peace is no longer avoidance or escape but rather the full facing of what needs to be grieved and shed

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