Mourning Coffee
You waited for me
As I gazed to see
Stars emerging from daylight
Sunset converging with midnight
Like smoke, and mist conversing
About a cabin in a clearing
I lost myself in Frost
Longing for mourning coffee.
It may seem I stole from you
A precious commodity
A thought, a line, your poetry
But I simply sought you out
Oh kindred spirit
For an opportunity to grow
Like summer grass
Lost in weeds
Who determines which has more worth
Man or earth?
They each draw from fertile soil
And soul alike
Changing with seasoned grace
Withering, dying, then reborn
Leaving me
With mourning coffee
Healing with a dearest sibling.
D.A. Wittler 8/23/19
You may wonder about the meaning of grief. How it ebbs, and flows through you like tidal forces through a marsh. It rises with the moon, recedes in time, then returns with a treasure all its own; shells, and creatures from a deep blue.
For some, a marsh is a dark mysterious place that serves no other purpose but to remind us of the gloom residing within our hearts, and minds. But grief is like a marsh, it separates us from land, and sea with its murky mystery, and it buffers us from the worst storms nature can muster. And yet, a marsh connects us gently to the greatness of mountain peaks, and valleys of our souls.
As Kya (Where The Crawdads Sing by: Delia Owens) knew from her loneliness, and depravity; life is a series of choices to survive, and live another day, or slowly die as the waters recede in a brackish haze of old age. Therefore, choose whichever, and know the wisdom of the ages lies in being alive each moment knowing full well that inevitable truth is in being born, experiencing, rising, and falling as a sunset bringing forth a universe of twinkling possibility called afterlife!
Amen, and God Bless!
.
