The stages of grief never worked for me
To facilitate a healing process.
I’ve a method; a succession of three:
A production line founded in progress.
First – we strap me to the hospital bed
And drain my veins of undesirables;
Be it you, be it me, it shall be bled.
Then – the therapy; for I am curable.
Removing the remnants, the reminders;
Lest they reappear in the final place –
Which is the re-emergence to lighter
Springtime days; cleansed, prepared for what awaits.
I’m discharged from my tripartite mending
To begin again after this ending.
Image courtesy of Aike Jansen
Reblogged this on haullebeeblogs and commented:
I’ve been super quiet on the blogging front, but I’ve been writing away and one of my poems has found it’s way to Qmunicate! Do have a little read if you like 😊