There Are No Words

There are no words, none that suffice
None that may cover or explain
None that express the loss of loved ones
Or which help to heal the pain

Anything that we might say
Anything we try to do
It all falls short, next to the grief
And only grief shows through

When someone has lost a special someone
A lover, family, pet or friend
There’s not one, single word we can speak
That will put them on the mend

No expression of condolence helps
Or will the pain, forestall
The only thing worse than feeble attempts
Is to say nothing at all

In times of loss, in times of grief
We’re not much use to those we hold dear
It’s best that we assume as much
And say only “I am here.”

Speak nothing, hoping your speech is useful
Know that we hold no such power
Say only “I am here with you,
In this, your darkest hour.”

The most that we might possibly do
For a friend who has a broken heart
Is to demonstrate respect, by saying
“I don’t even know where to start.”

To offer our humility, saying
“I can only imagine the weight of your pain.
I can do nothing for you, except be here.
And for you, here, I will remain.”


©2021 Kevin Trent Boswell

No Rules

Grief possesses no blueprints
There is no schematic
For how to remember
Or to forget

While walking the gray path of
All the scattered leaves and ash
Of what was

There is no rhythm
To which you might match your steps

No beat
To keep time

There is only the labored,
Slouching forward,
Whenever one’s strength allows;
Coming and going as it does,
In sloppy, uneven, hot flashes

There is no wrong way to lament

There is no proper sequence
For when to laugh,
To cry or to sleep

There is no cutout pattern
For your sack cloth

No clock chimes,
Letting you know that it is now time
To rend your garments,
To rub dirt in your hair

Anyway, time itself is mourning,
Right alongside you

Put your ear to the clock,
Listen closely…
You will hear it quietly sobbing

But time is only an illusion
And being an illusion,
It can only mean that…

Time…
Is nothing more
Than you

So, like you, time is
Absolutely beside itself with sadness

All formalities have fallen by the wayside

It flops, impotently, like a fish
One that miscalculated its angle,
On the jump for a mosquito;
It has now managed to strand itself,
On a parcel of ground

No idea which way it should
Violently spasm,
That it might get back
Into the good, wet stuff

Time grieves with you,
Throttling too quickly
In this

Grinding clumsily along
In that

Fortunately,
Since time is nothing…
Nothing more than you…
It is always the
Perfect time to do
Whatsoever your
Stunned spirit
Feels like doing

Sleep
Or do not

Eat
Or wait for a while

Wail
Or be silent

Work
Or linger in lethargic stupor

Laugh
Or find joy in nothing

Do whatever is best
Or worst

And the rest will wait

There is no hurry

For, in the end,
There is nothing
That we can do
For the dead

They all wait,
Patiently, quietly…
To be us

And we,
Them


©2021 Kevin Trent Boswell


Photo courtesy of Ekaterina

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