Russet, pink, and blood red skies
Connections raw and sweet
Tears and triumphs
Quiet contemplation
And deepening
Of self, and others

Grief laden sheep
Their cries far into the night
Full of loss and pain
Hard to bear
But bear it we must
We mothers, who gave life
Then had to say goodbye

Peaceful grass
Where it had been
Flattened, then drenched
Becoming springy and warm
With the blazing sun
To lie and embrace upon
All things, all things, are there
In that certain field in Derbyshire

Sometimes, like last night
I am horrorstruck
At just how bad I feel
If I could give this to someone
For even a moment
So they could just see
How it is for me
I think they would be shocked
Perhaps I could call it ‘Locked In Syndrome’
Instead of chronic pain

Sometimes
Like just now
I look out from this internal tomb of pain
To the outside world
Where all is well
And I am met by
A wail of grief……..

Grief

The stones are ok
I can sit on them!
It’s the rocks that are lodged inside my heart
That are weighing me down

Grief – with its all its slippery, slithering ways
Finding a way into my bones
And then grinds away at them
From the inside
Until there is nothing left inside

Leakage

I need tucking in round the edges
Where I’m leaking out
Nice and safely
Tucked in again
So one one will know
No one can see
Then I can function
With this internal horror intact
That was officially one of the worst nights on record!