The morning after loss will mostly be a wordless one.

Words aren't really needed.

If a word is said at all, we already knew them.

If a word is said at all, we were already breathing them,

bathing in the atmosphere of what any collection of words might intend.

 

The morning after loss will be a wordless one.

A deafening silence will envelop us.

A quiet that is a thunderous loneliness

and a healing, binding agent simultaneously.

 

The morning after loss will be a wordless one.

The invisible tendrils of our highest intention,

the great tapestry that holds us all together,

a life and lives remembered,

will rise up and be known despite our differences.

 

This spirit that makes itself known at such a time

asks nothing of us but the humility of recognition

and how...

O goodness how...

we might actually be changed by such a thing.


(c) 2018 / Frank LaRue Owen (Wandering Stone Lantern) / purelandpoetry.com

sound: Meeting Face to Face / What We Left Behind / Robert Rich

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