death poetry writing

Thanks giving

And then for a time it is just the sound of the dog licking an empty bowl

I’ve turned out all the lights so the coming dawn can fill every room

and why do we say, “I’m filled with loss”

when loss is an absence

should it be more,

“the loss reveals how big the empty space is in me”

and that’s what fills us,

a reminder of what once was

how life would never truly reveal itself

until maybe the end:

what makes it so peculiar, so wondrous,

its mystery reserved for a day we’d see it as an accumulation

of indescribable pain and beauty

cut like a diamond with all its facets and angles of light —

I give thanks now for the space it has made in my heart,

for the weight in what I have

and stand to lose,

for the gratitude that grows with age,

and all that waits

to reveal itself.

By pinklightsabre

Bill Pearse publishes memoir, travel journals, poetry and prose, and lives in the Pacific Northwest.

6 replies on “Thanks giving”

Yes my friend: happy thanksgiving! Let it simmer until it’s ready, I guess. Not sure warming it really changes things: ha! Love you buddy! Bill

Liked by 1 person

Leave a comment!

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.