and leaves the world all grayed over in muddy darkness.
It's quieter at night. No work to do. No phones to answer.
Sleep drawing all things to a slower pace.
Night makes the aloneness a little more acute,
but still, it's better. There's no need to explain
or excuse or do anything.
Mourning is better
at night. Sorrow is not a good breakfast companion.
Pain is best felt under cover of darkness and blankets
where others cannot see the tears or hear
the rending of your heart all over again;
to be embraced by sleep and better dreams than
what reality offers in the light of day.
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* It's PoMo! To learn about PoMo (POetry MOnday), click here and then scroll down.
This is from a poem I first jotted out sometime in 2007, lamenting a divorce that was not my choice. I’ve tweaked it a few times since then. It’s a little tough sharing something so personal, but then the best writing is personal, isn’t it? What do you think? Do you agree with the Flaubert quote in the graphic? (By the way, because I choose to place the graphic right next to the poem, it causes the lines to break where they actually don’t.)
This poem is included in this collection:
Well said. Been there.
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