Triggers of grief

Grief comes in waves

A trigger of a memory

A word or two heard in passing

Thoughts of them come to you

Trespassing your mind

You can’t help it, you find

You love those memories, but they make you sad

Bittersweet, you feel bad

Guilty that you don’t want the memories, guilty you think of them

Moving on is difficult because it hurts again and again

Any little trigger will make you think of those

Who are in the heavens, those whose death caused you woes

But you know that you love them and happy memories you did share

But why does it have to hurt so much? 

When they are no longer there?

That is that

So there it is, it is final?

Perhaps your feelings were always fake, like vinyl?

So now I know what’s in store for me

Now I won’t ever be free

So what is life going to do to me?

Come on tell me, what do you see?

I was wanted and then suddenly not

You have power but you’ve forgot

Now the winter is closing in

Drowning me out and drowning within

So carefully you thought and chose

But attempted not, because of the woe

I am complicated, why would you want that?

So I will be gone soon, and that is that.

Miniature angels

Fairies are like miniature angels, flying past us every day

Little wings glowing, sweet little fays

 

In the shadows they hide, under and behind rocks

Playing tricks on mortals, making us laughing stocks

 

Fairies are like angels, this much is true

I’ve a feeling you’ve met them, well maybe one or two

 

Sweet angel faces, happy little smiles

Why don’t you sit and meditate, and talk with them awhile?

 

Dreaming, playing, swimming, chasing, as little fairies do

Congregating on the top of a hanging horseshoe

 

Drinking, laughing, always dancing in the steepy glens

Come along and see them, and bring along your friends

 

Fairies are like angels as I have said before

A lot of fun you’ll have with them for they are not a bore

 

Fairies are like angels fluttering low and high

Sometimes when they hide they become midges in the summer sky

 

Angels are full of magic; they’ll take away your woes

For what better place to store them than down some rotten holes?

© Tina Cousins 2013