Redbud Leaves and Blossoms, 4.7.20
I meant to post this poem with the image last night, but neglected to do so. I’m not a great poet, but it helps me process things sometimes.
Sorrow comes sneaking in the door again
attempting to wrap its arms around me.
I resist, I turn away, run quickly.
But sorrow is persistent, not caring
that I will continue to say “No thanks,
Not yet. Not now. Perhaps another day.”
Sorrow is relentless, it has no cares
and knows no boundaries, it refuses
to stay six feet away, it breathes on me,
hugs me hard and shares its viral spittle,
grabs me by my hurting heart, knocks me down,
and blankets me with an ache that won’t stop.
Sorrow demands attention. I refuse.
Take your blanket, sorrow, and let me be.
I am not your servant. I am not yours
at all. I will fight you to the death and
that death will be yours, even if I should,
unwillingly, join in that final ride.