Life at its core

I tried to process my grief in poetry. It was easier at first with haikus. I couldn’t focus on anything. All I saw was my baby crumbling because his baby, his precious son was dead. There’s no greater anguish in life as a Mom than not being able to protect your child from unbearable pain. I tucked my own pain away until I could process it as I do best in poetry.


Magnitudes beyond

Dismantled ruminations

Tickled pink sorrow


Corpulent spirals

Reverberated silent

Rapturous horrors


Quietus be damned

Soporific prophecy

Accolades revoked



A blooming life

It is not a sweet budding rose

Or blooms oozing blood

It is not petals of withered love

Or stifled blooms gasping

It is not a mere passage

Or cracks of blooming suspense

It is not a promised bouquet

Or a requiem symbolizing regrowth

It is not a forever perennial

Or a blooming happy ever after fairy tale

But it is our budding rosy story

Filled with daily anguished decay.


October 15, 2005-July 1, 2019

We love you ❤️


Rapturous visions

Suspended revelations

Accolades denied


Love, Gramma and Grandpa



One thought on “Life at its core

  1. it is bad enough to lose a child to an early is magnified by thousands when it is a grandchild. I feel your pain as I too have lost a grand. She will never grow old…and she will never be forgotten. bless you and yours

    Liked by 1 person

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