On Waking in Grief

Dreams fall in trembling veils

Anguished and haunted.

Like dust falling from the rafters,

In a storm.

Coming out of the fantasy sleep brings,

With his scent still clinging.

Now being exchanged for the sour smell

Of night sweat.

The weight of stillness, presses on me.

Vivid memory,

Suddenly

Gone.

Receding like a rising ballon beyond my grasp.

Bereft!

Obstructions in the gloom.

And through the window,

Ragged tree shapes try to hide a robust Moon.

A promise of silver beyond the bleak dream forest.

To find,

A beginning, and ending.

And not being halfway between the journey.

Faint trees glimmer on the pane.

Reflect the coldness of the silvered moon.

Who is the only witness,

To the muffled sobs on the pillow.

Agonised anquish that saps the nerves raw.

Even loving hands right now,

Would feel like a branding iron.

As all the tears are wrung from oneself.

Only the cold refelection of uncaring stars see.

Is this prelude to finer revealtion?

Another grace, another plunge,

Into the sea of tomorrows.

Another energy to empower my future.

Or something else,

Not yet understood and still underplayed.

I long to trancend my past,

And I quake at the fortitude required to so.