There is sadness in the corner.
A beautiful sadness that calls to me, many a day, and I can’t help but follow. I can’t help but wonder why.
When life is ever so dear, and joy is found sweetly in the eyes of the ones I love, why is the sadness in the corner? When the rest of the room is flooded with colour; the corner.
Why is it aching, why is it grey?
Whole and beautiful life is here,
but the corner.
Why is there sadness in the corner?
I do not want this war.
This softness, I am.
I do not want this
war.
And yet, it flows
where peace seeks to be.
And yet, aggression is
somehow,
the twisted arm
of this peaceful river.
Must we simply flow?
There is a tear in my soul.
They want me to smile,
all the time, they want me to be fine,
this world.
But I am not
(though I am.)
There is a weeping tear.
A wound unhealed and breaking
ever deeper,
every day.
I will tell you this:
I am fine.
And I am,
six colours of the rainbow, fine.
The seventh colour.
It is a golden tar.
An aching soul,
searching.
An aching child
within the hardened walls
of a happy one.
It is raining, and I am alone.
And there is sorrow in these parts, and knowing that life is terrible and beautiful, all at the same time.
I am alive with all of that.
I am alive with the sorrow and all the quiet of all the world.
I shall drink some coffee.
I shall drink it well, and hold my cup with love.
In the shadow of love
is the aching
of fear.
And I hold you,
love.
I hold you
and your beautiful tears.
How small we are in the largeness of it all.
Our tiny cries barely heard over roaring humanity.
But we each have a sadness, each of us, true.
Of your sadness, I say: I hear it.
I see it, as clearly as I see you.
And you must know that in my ears
it is as loud as it always has been to you.
It is as loud as it needs to be for my heart
to mend it for you.
Sorrow is quiet and soft.
How strange, that during the saddest times, the quiet is the loudest voice of all.
Tonight, I send my voice into the stillness.
To honour the love and the sorrow that lingers when we lose our most precious hearts.
Quiet, the place where unconditional love floats free.
Peace. Our soft and gentle, forever home.
In the lonely hours
they cry for their humanity.
For the lost past,
for the uncertain present
they wander lost.
Together,
alone.
What is this softness
that takes my heart dancing
beneath the sad moon?
When aching life pours from the sky,
and my heart cries
to be heard
for once
without question.
Will I listen?
No.
I will hear,
but I will not listen, for fear,
of what?
The heart needs too much.
The heart needs too much
that I,
whoever I am,
cannot ask life to give.
Stay.
Listen to this quiet wind
and know:
this too shall pass.
Stay.
Hush.
Hush.
Stay.
Tomorrow,
we begin again.
☀️
Mental health is a very important issue at this time, and precious human lives are the sweetest thing. Including yours. Reach out for help if you need it, beautiful friend. There are people who can help you find your own sun again. Let them. So much love. You’ve got this. You do. ❤️
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