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    poetry


    dots Submission Name: Pallordots
    --------------------------------------------------------





    Author: saartha
    ASL Info:    27/F/US
    Elite Ratio:    4.03 - 230/390/136
    Words: 108
    Class/Type: Misc/Misc
    Total Views: 719
    Average Vote:    No vote yet.
    Bytes: 690



    Description:
       My grandfather died a couple of months ago. It was peaceful and expected.


    Make the font bigger!! Double Spacing Back to recent posts.

    dotsPallordots
    -------------------------------------------


    I cried myself sane and then
    moved on. How strange, that a man
    can split open like a rotten peach and find,
    at last, nothingness. How strange to realize:
    only then can sunlight enter his veins.

    Death dissolves us. Nothing has changed
    but everything is different. I spend an hour
    pressing my fingers against a wall, the skin
    whitening as blood retreats.

    There is no regret, no fear. Only a man
    who whitens against his final four walls,
    the empty chair, the selfish and wandering grief.
    Only a man whose face slowly unravels and the way
    I wash my face, make dinner, let myself forget.




    Submitted on 2010-05-07 13:27:16     Terms of Service / Copyright Rules
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    ||| Comments |||
      A sad thing death is, and grief is normal, even encouraged, but it is not something that should break us. We do have to move on in the sense of everyday living, but let no one ever say that we have forgotten the lost loved one.

    I know most have probably read it, but the words at Ecclesiastes 3:1-8 are really powerful, and, well, true. There is a time and place for everything.

    Perhaps we all should devote some time pressing our fingers against the wall. I know I have embraced the wall before in my grief.

    When my grandfather died, just a little over a year ago, I didn't cry. I wasn't all that close to him, but I had nothing against him. I felt sad for my dad, because he had lost his father. It was different. Life went on, but everything felt different now, because he was no longer a part of our lives. It was a nothingness.

    The saddest peach is the one that imparts no life as it dies. There will always be someone to mourn the fruit that does not continue, someone to bury it in the soft ground and know that no tree will grow.

    Beautiful piece, saartha. After a long period of silence, you have emerged with an amazing poem. You never cease to wonder.

    -Fox

    P.S. I know it's never really much, but I offer my condolences to you.
    | Posted on 2010-05-08 00:00:00 | by AsiaticFox | [ Reply to This ]
      this is perfect.
    though you know that.
    and i have missed your words.
    you prolly guessed that.

    yes.

    just last night i found myself in a conversation all about death and bodies and such..

    i dont cope with death very well. im a lot better now than i used to be but i cannot handle seeing dead bodies.. i accidently walked into an open casket service a month or so back and very quickly walked back out.

    and i understand the pressing of fingers against a wall... the way death makes you question the way life works but not the big things like breathing and dna but the little things like reflexes and blinking and whathaveyou.

    ive pretty much got nothing but i just wanted to say i read this and i understand and i miss you.
    | Posted on 2010-05-07 00:00:00 | by Someones Epiphany | [ Reply to This ]


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