Cutting through the darkness
comes a keening sound,
a grief that's like no other,
deep, and quite profound.
A heart that has been broken
laments in sore-felt pain,
will he ever rise above it
will he ever hope again?
They say time is a healer
of every circumstance,
but can it patch a wound
slashed open by a lance?
No comfort can be wrought
nor stitches sewed to mend,
this broken heart of grief
where sorrow must attend.
I hear the keening, I feel the keening, and I know your poem is authentic and true.
ReplyDeleteIndeed, it is true. I had never heard 'keening' until this very personal event. Thank you, Kim, for your encouraging comments.
DeleteI remember hearing that keening sound, Carol, and then realising it was me. You’ve captured that in this poem. These lines are so true:
ReplyDelete‘No comfort can be wrought
nor stitches sewed to mend
this broken heart of grief’.
Thank you, Kim. I'm so sorry that you have had firsthand experience of keening. It comes from a place of indescribable loss and pain.
DeleteSometimes, keening is the only way to express huge loss. You decsribe in wery well.
ReplyDeleteThanks, Kim. Keening is not a modern-day word, but it describes personal grief very well.
DeleteWhen the pain of loss is unbearable, one cannot help but keen. Carol, you have captured the aftermath of a painful event so accurately. Thanks for sharing.
ReplyDeleteThanks, Punam, and thanks for the prompt that called for authenticity.
DeleteNicely done. It scans perfectly. 👍
ReplyDeleteThank you, Shaun. :D
DeleteThat "keening sound" is grief's expression without which pain only festers. Perfectly described devastation after loss, Carol.
ReplyDeleteThanks, Dora. Keening is a sound that cuts through the heart.
Delete