From Whispered Grief to Eruptive Memory

a tempest won't rip through the streets of your town

neither will the rain pelt the surface of the earth

more or less than it did the day before or will

the day after

-

a war won't erupt in foreign and domestic lands

any more than it would on any given day of the year

nor will a mortar pierce the quiet in the morning

the day after

-

a mourning cry will not sound throughout the land

no minute's silence will be held and not procession

will fill the squares of cities and towns across the globe

the day after

-

a murmur will be felt, not seismic, but internally

in the hearts of the few I call my kin, my family

my circle of people in this troubled existence

the day after

-

no platitudes or sycophancy is needed for mourners

a hearty meal and sympathy is needed for mourners

no words of "live a full life" will be uttered

the day after

-

for the dead no nothing of the living, those who remain

it's inconsequential, of little matter, to the fallen

you do you, as the saying goes, but, remember me, perhaps

the day after

if tomorrow starts without me

*

a tempest will rip through the streets of your town

and the rain of a thousand storms will drench the earth's surface

more than ever has ever been experience since the Great Flood

the day after

-

a war will erupt in domestic and foreign lands alike

of greater note and ferocity than any normal day of the year

and mortar fire, gunfire and rockets will shatter the quiet

the day after

-

a mourning cry of birds and mammals will steal the world's attention

and silence will fall as a procession is led through

the towns and cities, as myriads gather in squares worldwide

the day after

-

a heart murmur, deep rumble will be felt, seismic, but internal

in the hearts of not just the few, but the many

beyond my kin, my family, my circle

the day after

-

sycophancy and platitudes will dilute the grief,

fasting and contemplation will exacerbate the grief,

"live a full life, in memory of me" will be the strapline

the day after

-

for the dead no nothing of the living, those who remain,

it's inconsequential, of little matter, to the fallen

you do you, as the saying goes, but, remember me, perhaps

the day after

If tomorrow starts without me

*

Thanks for reading!

Author's Notes: Hello, folks. I know I have a stack of notifications to catch up with and will in due time. Also...here is a poem for Kayleigh Fraser's "One Of Use" Unofficial Poetry Challenge. More on that below. Oh, and it may not be the most subtle entry. But...it's an entry.

Here's a few other things!