Tag Archives: loss


Grace is full of knots
Ring it out, son
To find blood-splatter
Plenty here to forewarn
A man was drowning in despair
It’s like a self-fulfilling prophesy
That no one could do anything about
To save a musically-gifted soul
From his traumas
Drawing in the surrounding darkness
And forming a noose
For the reset was a drug too tempting to resist
And he was an addict of a sort
All his tragically short life

Negan & Lucile #TheWalkingDead

Horror show reveals,
Blood-spattered consequences,
Every mad man has a madder version of themselves out there,
This one carries a barbed-wire encased baseball bat called ‘Lucile’;
The widow-maker!
Brutal wrecker of bone ‘n’sinew into pulp !
The crushing end!
Preceded by a showy extol of this baptism of fire;
That it is for a far greater purpose!
For the mad man is ultimately a showman,
With something of a car salesman about him!

He knows he must lead his band of miscreants by savage example,
For, when every form of violence is part of a daily, staple diet,
Both the living and the dead should learn to fear him and Lucile, most of all;
And, you are about to be set an example!

A ghost of a swallow on a perch,
Dark lining on a silver cloud,
See emotion drawing nearer and closing in around you like a noose,
Bringing with it the realisation for a erstwhile leader of a band,
Brought literally to his knees and facing an imminent fatality:
Your pride got us here;
Hubris, in other words,
You forgot that every action has a reaction:
Well, it is about to prove fatal to one of yours,
However will you cope with that burden now?

Submerged in a sea of barbaric violence for so long:
You thought you’ve been broken so many times before, you were immune to the pain by now,
You were wrong.

For a man is a parasite that is sustained by human bonds,
And you are about to have the equivalent of an arm deliberately crushed and rendered unusable,
To serve as a sorry reminder,
For you ‘n’ yours, and everyone else besides…
To remember:
Death carries a scythe, and Negan has Lucile!

Lake of Salvation

Plucking at the strings of emotion,

Bringing a masterpiece casually into being,

A soloist’s rendition mirrors your condition;

Like the crown of flowers nestling on your head,

Fluttering in the gentle breeze,

Slowly loosing each of its petals to the wind,

Falling away, and leaving only stem and nettles,

To soak on the surface of a lake of tears,

Before submerging and resting at the basin to be covered in detritus,

An apt accompaniment to sudden bout of grief:

As you wade into the middle seeking elusive redemption,

From your memories and dreams, turned harassing nightmares of late,

Toward the inevitability of your own drowning,

For, the further you move out, the deeper the lake gets;

And, what you search for is nowhere to be found,

Searching for solace and meaning in a soloists melancholy,

As your tears trail down to join those of thousands of others’ before you,

Who have found themselves in a similar state,

For you are not the first, nor the last, to experience this feeling of loss;

And it is our feelings and not our memories, that are the true common bond and uniter, both then and now.

Hole in the Heart

Watching you walk away;

In a stunned, shell-shocked hue;

Feeling like you’re leaving me nursing a hole in my heart in the shape of you,

Pain and memory work in concert, to remind me of what you were (or, were not) to me,

It can never be cured by any known medical ailment,

And, I will have to nurse and mind its crippling tendencies 24/7 to end of days,

A lover came and showed you a new way of being,

Now she’s walked away, it was almost like a visceral dream that’s left you longing and bemoaning;

It was good, it was bad, and it was in-between;

But it’s time to start over;

‘Cause, if you can feel anything at all;

You’ve got to get up and keep on;

You ain’t nowhere near the best, so you have to work harder than all the rest;

But, self-pittying means you’ve got more time than you need;

When, rest is for the dead, and you ain’t dead yet;

You’ve got to keep moving ’till you are.

‘Little Pet’ to Ol’ Nan (Part 1 of 2)

Streaks of tears flow from ol’ nan’s rheumy eyes;

Is it her tear ducts or is she terribly sad? I don’t know which!

Her face is an age-old mask of wrinkles and parchment;

Turned into paper mache-

Changing from haunted, stern, angry and sincere, each time I visit;

I can no longer read which is which,

She can’t seem to recognise me, I don’t know why!

It fills my soul with helplessness enough to suffocate,

Love isn’t enough to cure you Nan, and the realisation is tearing me apart!

A hard-working woman all your life filled with duty and warmth left virtually an empty shell, where is the justice in that?

Remember, you called me ‘Little Pet’, no one else does now or ever will again;

I fear one day I will visit you and you’ll be gone, and I’m not ready for that!

Please, Nan, show me that you can hear me and come back:

To see my growing family, to give you all the comforts you deserve, and a chance to say ‘I love you’ one last time!

I need that!