Surviving

There is a pain that sucks the life blood
Out of my very veins
And drags my strangled spirit
From my heart's bombed out remains.
It has a name: Bereavement,
And it drives me to my knees
While the traitor shrieks with laughter
And tramples on my tears.
So I'll wrap myself in Solitude -
A bandaged wound should heal -
Until the dressing wriggles loose with time
Allowing me to feel
Against my tender, scarring soul
A gentle breeze of hope,
Warmed by the simple knowledge
That, alone I've learned to cope.

by Janet Mary Zylstra

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