I feel soft ghostly hands around my throat

That want to pull me to the darkest deep

My husband cannot leave or be remote

He wishes me to join him in his sleep.

I shall resist for I desire to live

Though blind now are my hours without his face.

I have no more I hope to give

Since he withdrew from me his kind embrace.

As lonely as a swan without its mate.

As tired as swallows after they migrate

I must accept my unconsoled fate

I’ll not accept this be a constant state.

From my loss, I shall recover when

The birds return and summer comes again

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BmPUu-rMpWA

Nowadays people have got the idea that writing helps one emotionally.Sometimes they have carried out experiments on groups of people and found the immune system was better on those who expressed their problems in writing.The scientific way  is one way to look at  it or we can use our experience,
With trauma writing or talking about it soo soon can make you feel worse.If it is an emotion like sorrow or anxiety it may help simply because if you start writing it is a form of distraction.
Apparently writing in form is better than free verse as it creates a  psychological container for the emotions.I read  Sylvia Plath might have been less depressed if she had written in form in her last year We can’t prove that
Another idea I have had is to use the energy of the emotion in your writing but write about something else.Using the energy is good for you.I think.I have done this and it helps because when we are upset we need to soothe ourselves.Some people clean out a drawer, for example.So if you write a letter about something different the act of writing  has a soothing effect.I assume you will not write a nasty letter or email as you will feel worse and upset the other person.
Poets have a higher suicide rate than other people but it’s hard to know what is cause and what is effect.
All writers spend a lot of time alone.Leonard Cohen needed that and it made his relationships hard for his partners so often they left him.He suffered from ssevere depression but said suicide was undignified!He managed to have a long career and certainly shared his feelings of love and loss and about politics.

I thought about me  trapping some  free verse
Where does it hang out when off the page?
I could change it to a sonnet, at my worst.

Humans were once hunters and we’re cursed
We still have the vision and the rage
I thought about me  trapping some  free verse

If verse were never free, it might get terse
Put a sign up saying, I’m engaged
I could change it to a sonnet, at the worst.

Into  slavish  forms we are coerced
Joan of Arc was burned  tied to a  stake
Who thought of her escaping or rebirth.?

If only human actions  were rehearsed
We could change our paths  as do snowflakes
I could change life to a sonnet, verse by verse.

 

Slit the sentence, take out all that aches
Sew it up and see the world  remade
I thought about me  trapping some  free verse
I could change it to a sonnet or digress

https://www.poetryfoundation.org/resources/learning/glossary-terms/detail/free-verse

 

Through the pain of grief our love displays.
Like fireworks decorate the sky above.,
The happiness we had in former years

The pain leaks out in tears from reddened eyes
Love too big to keep at a remove
Through the pain of grief this love displays.

But after seas are watered with dark tears
We  climb back  up the cliffs without our love,
Without the happiness we had before.

With the grief, ,we feel a  panic fear
As if the saddest loss were not enough
Through the pain of grief our love’s displayed

So we suffer loss in many layers
Unless our partner was a tyrant rough
We  had no happiness  in former years

 

All who love   inhabit tragic plays
Happiness  interwoven with  due loss
Through the pain of grief  for love we pay

 

A kindly friend with sympathy may soothe
And yet our minds are swollen, deeply bruised
Through the pain of grief our love displays.
The joy we took for granted every day

 

The sunset is pale
Coral with grey finger marks~
No bird sang today

Sensitive  souls don’t enter politics
They’re writers, artists, dreamers, parents, nerds
They would not give  assent to  dirty tricks

A pebble thrown feels like a heavy brick.
They grieve when feral cats catch garden birds.
Sensitive  souls will not like politics

They prefer a   real pen to a Bic
They do  not like to use distasteful words
They cannot give  assent to  dirty tricks

They wonder  whether  “Bricks ” are artistic
But often their bewilderment’s unshared
Sensitive  souls won’t enter politics

They’re resistant to being forced to answers quick
Their pleasure is quite easily  perturbed
They cannot give  assent to  dirty tricks

By news about fierce conflict, they’re disturbed
Feel the guilt  of  Crusades and of Wars
Sensitive  souls won’t enter politics
They cannot give  assent to  dirty tricks