Image by Katherine
Image by Katherine
The photo is by Mike Flemming 2020
Thank you,Mike
We can cast our body like a cloak
Around the loved one when they cannot speak
Hold them like an infant when at rest
Sleeping softly on a mother’s breast
Touching them and keeping them at peace
Until they can accept death and its release
They seem to concentrate on unknown tasks
Till their minds are happy and they pass
They come first but afterwards we fall
Into an abyss where we just crawl
Seeing shapes and visions, feeling sore
Aching for the one we see no more
A paradox , we give and nothing gain
The suffering of the heart, the searing pains
How hard it is to grieve when we can’t touch
Sight is distant, has no real affect
No wonder that the eyes of poor folk lurch
How hard it is to grieve when we can’t touch
Though from our hand an enemy might flinch
Or grasp too hard, the knife hid to deflect
How hard it is to grieve when we can’t touch
Sight can never see the true affect
‘Heartsarnes’ (meaning ‘grief’ in Old English) literally translates as heart soreness.
I see a friend who follows my old path
The downward slope, the tunnel through the dark
Helping partners ease their way through death
The hesitance, the disbelief, the wrath
The sharpness like a knife that cuts our heart
I see a friend who follows my old path
So many lovely friends, ny husband said
Just before he lost the vital spark
Helping him to float from out his bed
I did not realise that he was dead
Until his pallor faded, blood departs
I see a friend who follows on this path
We miss them where they used to lie in bed
We miss them taking photos of the park
We help them ease their way to their good death
We need love to help us with this work
Who will help the carer when they hurt?
I see a friend who follows my old path
We each bear the pain of our own Cross