The death of grief

You've emptied yourself into this cup/ this poem// Drink me/ you say// Drain each lie that i tell/ you insist// All the scars have finished their encore/ & all you hear now are the echoes of what once was// The steeple holds you from the ground/ but your hand does not touch heaven/ no matter how high your prayers reach// So you've dug yourself this small hole/ in the proofread body of this work/ & buried the detritus that clambered out of the sea in your flesh/ in the enjambment of each metaphor// You want/ no/ you need to touch my skin/ to be sure you still exist// You've gazed into my eyes/ & you did not see yourself there// Which is fine/ my eyes were never meant to see ghosts/ & your hopes are cold ash/ on my head// I rub the soot all over my skin/ & like the prophet/ scream: Ichabod!/ The glory has disappeared from my sight!//


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Sadness poem

I really liked your poem, the strength of the metaphors (your hopes are cold ash/ in my head), the dialogic dimension at the beginning of the poem. Just out of curiosity, why do you separate the lines with / instead of line breaks?

Because I wanted it to be a prose poem, at the same time, I wanted the reader to be able to identify possible line breaks. Thanks for reading

Beautiful as always xxxxx

Thank you my friend.

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A very nice poem and at the same time sad, one can feel the passion you put in it, a hug.