THE FREQUENCY OF PAIN

There's a truth only pain knows,
its frequency deep and low...
a language only grief understands
that bravado cannot withstand.
There's a tongue only suffering utters,
an eloquence that sorrow masters.
In my descent to that realm where groans
are amplified beyond the bones,
I saw souls rising black as ravens,
I saw a shaft as deep as caverns..
a borehole pumping pain like crude,
extracting all that loss exudes.
Some measure out their grief in buckets,
others store their tears in cisterns.
The foreman logs each quota filled
while wisdom seeps from what we've drilled:
that suffering, refined and drawn,
becomes the fuel on which we carry on.

Author's Note

My dear mom died a few days back. I've always been eloquent but now I'm just dumbstruck. I can't express myself . It's strange.

Reviews

[jacob erin-cilberto]

This is one of your best...raw with emotion...and very real poetry.
Lost my mom, now it has been 11 years.
We think they will be there for us forever...
I still miss her and start to pick up the phone to call her.
Beautiful write.
j.