this circle called grief

by David Riddell


and so
to the procession,
a silent progression
this grieving process
but a procession
has a beginning
and an end,

sackcloth and ashes
from dust to dust
from hell to hell
that long obtuse black tunnel
with dark cylindrical walls,
that horizontal journey into nothingness
where receding light is just a pinprick
at the tubes end

a black hole
a yawning chasm
an ever downward spiral
a bottomless pit
a suspension in space,

grief clings
like a second skin
a constant shedding of the one emotion
but that persistent anaconda returns

to slowly asphyxiate the mind,

pushed back into the far recesses
of the mind
to fester
and possess,
to reappear when least expected
in word and deed
with devastating consequences,

oh wretched one
who can save me from this state of being ?


Poet biography:
David Riddell is 68 years old. He is married to his lovely wife of 43 years and has four adult sons. David has been writing poetry for nearly 20 years. His writing inspiration comes from personal experience and from listening to music. He likes to play with words, particularly words which hold double entendre. David also has a strong interest in Theology, Australian politics and Christianity.

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