534 // on grief + hope // #poemoftheday

fresh grief
layered over old sorrow,
makes me want to rage
in wild fury at the heavens.

how dare the sun still shine?
how dare the world keep spinning?
how dare we speak of hope
in the dark reality of loss?

because we must, we must,
less all be lost;
in the seething tempest of this storm,
Love’s unfailing grip will anchor us
until the long night is over.

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533 // tell me // #ameditationongrief #poemoftheday

tell me,
what do we do now?
we, whose hearts in one
piercing moment
shattered
again.

do we clench our fists
and shake them at the heavens?
how can we ever hope to hold
the injustice of it all?

tell me,
how do you stand
when you are cracked
clear through to the foundation?
and impotent grief
hollows out your heart
for its lair?

I lay my questions at the feet
of our weeping god
who sits in the darkness with us,
sorrow upon sorrow,
and cling to the slender hope
that even here, Love is.

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532 // on new grief // #poemoftheday

I hold new grief tonight,
bowed down under the weight
of life’s unfairness.

heart broken again,
all my old griefs rise
to mingle with the newcomer
in their midst.

outside this room
the world spins on, I know,
but here, time holds its breath
and drags past in a surreal blur;
I’ve walked this path before.

a hundred questions swirl,
most just variations of “why”,
and I don’t know how
to carry these questions again to Love,
only that I must,
for I know that god-guy weeps too.

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529 // this kind of love // #poemoftheday

“listen” she said,

“if we miss love
we miss the whole point”

“not empty words and emojis,
real – get your hands dirty,
pour your life out,
break open your chest cavity
and make space in your heart –
love”

“sounds painful” I say

“oh it is!” she replies,
“but it’s worth every second.”

“this kind of love sets you free”

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528 // a series of hard truths // #poemoftheday

one.
I am loved.
it shouldn’t be hard to swallow,
but it lodges in my throat
like a fish bone –
sharp edge piercing
the softest part of me.

two.
faith without action
is a rotting corpse,
and reeks with the stench
of an open grave.

if people find our
empty words offensive,
maybe it’s because
decomposing love
is an assault on the nostrils.

three.
all our attempts
to love as Love does
will only ever be aspirational,
and that’s ok.

small acts of love
will change the world.
imagine how a tsunami of kindness
could transform a nation,
what divisions would be swept away
by the furious embrace of love.

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