The Widow’s Mite
When there is nothing left to give…grief becomes the order of the day.
There are times that stifle words.
Choke the warmth, smother the need,
so great the deeds, so deep the damage,
to try to verbalise is futile.
One can only pray seasons,
maturity and deep introspection
will earn rewards not yet apparent
from this vantage.
Were our differences only contained.
Perhaps in time, mutual understanding?
Not drip-fed to a new generation
to wreak mayhem and insecurity
on fragile, trusting minds,
when all there ever was,
underneath all our chaos,
© stormwolf 2023
Isn’t it amazing how that last word inspires so many impressions from our pens. Your poem inspired deep, deep feelings right to the core of my belly. I felt it, and I can’t think of a better accolade to your work than to tell you that. Blessings, Allen x
Hi again Allen,
Yes, indeed. The word has such power to stimulate all sorts of inner emotions.
I thank you most genuinely for your comment. It was a difficult one to write to encompass the feelings but not go overboard at the same time. I wanted to portray a sort of aching emptiness tinged with deep regret rather than anger or bitterness.
It came totally out of the blue as I was trying to post my crow poem.
When that happens, I always try to accommodate it.
A great sense of sadness and, perhaps, as you say, emptiness in this one, Alison. It sort of mirrors the sad, pensive look of the photo. Don’t quite understand ‘… only pray seasons, contributions’ but, perhaps that’s just me.
Hi Tony Thank you so much for dropping in and reading. You homed in exactly to the bit I was not sure of. The truth is that this poem is a new one that simply presented itself to me as I was busy posting my older one. I decided to post it in order to have some new work for the resurrected site but I may alter it. It’s the ‘contributions’ I wondered about but it means what I gave to the relationship in question. It relates to the title which came first. So, I am saying that I can… Read more »