There's grief outside my door,
the screaming and the keening.
I try to shut it out -
but it strikes me too deeply.
I know, though I do not say,
that there's no hope -
even before they cry that he's cold.
I huddle under these blankets,
my eyes tightly closed -
but I see everything,
though it's not in front of me.
The only thing that brings me
a strange sort of comfort is sleep.
My grandmother awakes me,
crying that there's a loss.
I simply tell her that I know.
I do not say more
because it's not my place to grieve,
to shakily explain the feeling
of seeing him one day
and the next hearing his name
on pained lips.
Rest easy, gentle soul.
YOU ARE READING
To the World...(A Collection of Poems)
PoesíaZelda Aurora Gabriel has been writing poetry from the time she was 13. She is now 25. Different from others her age, poetry became an outlet and a means of understanding a world that often didn't understand her. "To the World" is a compilation and a...
