Ballad of a Broken Soul

july 29, 2019

there is a pain in the chest that though not inspired by loss, can only be known as grief
for the english language, beautiful as it is, lacks in it simplicity
a poet can evoke emotions that bring readers to tears, but they have no simple word for what they cry over
so as you lay with a pain in your chest
that feels as if your lungs are full of concrete, that your heart has sunk to the bottom of your ribcage, the only word you can think of is grief
for any who have heard the wails of grief know the stricken feeling the listener and wailer is left with
that undescribable feeling of loss and pain and frustration and weight, that can only be known as grief
but what could it be that I grieve? could it be a youth unburdened by an invisible pain? a hand that once never yielded a blade against me? a childhood not scarred with the fumblings of a cruel mother?
when most cry out in pain, in grief, they cry out a name
they know why they cry
but the silent grief, the unnamed grief, that simply sits deep in the chest, weighing one down to their bed, does not allow a cry against it
for what are you to scream?
curse you, you wretched grief! curse you, you unbearable sadness!
no, that simply won't do
you cannot cry and wail at something you cannot name
so you lay empty and heavy, hoping the pain fades
time is the best healer, as they say
but time cannot heal what it does not know
laying in silence and unknowing, buried alive in dreadful grief, you grow only worse
a vine may grow after devastation given sun, water, and time
but that which suffers from rot will decay from the inside out
both experience grief
the one that came back may have been cut, weathered a storm
but the one rotting can name no pain to the gardener, unknowingly trimming her plants
it feels the rot, sees the decay, but has no name for the cause
just
grief
so the dead leaves pile
its beauty fades
its value dwindles
the dreadful drag of time has no sympathy for the unnamed grief
oh time, you great healer! why is it you spare no thought for me? why is it I only seem to lose my strength more as the days crawl on? for every moment I see the sun I am suddenly drowning again in torents of freezing rain!
keep your head up, they say
keep it up and you may not drown
but how, I reply, am I not meant to drown when the water has reached the heavens, and there is no further for my head to reach?
when my lungs are filled with that deadly grief, and I struggle and struggle, for hours, days, weeks, hell--years! but still I sink!
this damn unnamed grief, unnamable grief! it shifts it's form when tongue finally forms a word! first it is like a heavy weight on one's soul, then suddenly it's the water sitting in your lungs, then it's the fire with which you burn the helping hand!
damn this grief! I am naught but a vine suffering from rot watching her beautiful flowers wilt and fall to mulch on the ground!
damn this grief! I am naught but a child caught under the cover of a frigid pool, as her parents unknowingly continue their chores!
oh, if only they knew the death within their walls
maybe then they'd dive in and help
but the chores are many and the screams are few
the majority overrules the minority
the ghost of the girl that returns, if any, will simply lead them to remark on how much kids change
the grief, if that's even what it is, always seems to win
like a cruel disease that cripples the heart, it always fades the beat
but what, oh what may we name this wretched disease?
what may we scream when the grief overwhelms us?
I am but a poet
I say many words to make you hear one
thinking of a concise word for such complex feelings is beyond me
so I offer you, simply
grief