Viewing: Loss - View all posts

The Thinking Poet - Broken Castle 

Broken Castle

Since boyhood 
I believed in you, trusted you,
Listening to your passionate prayers,
Your heartfelt singing,
Your delicate unfolding of truth's flower
As a gardener examines each petal,
As a lover explores his beloved,
And I saw in you
Wisdom worth learning,
Journeys worth following,
Lesson by lesson 
As the mile markers flicker by.
I built a castle of vision,
Founded on your shoulders,
A tower from which 
I could gaze upon the world
And recognize distant shores.
But while I was gazing
I saw you, crawling out 
From your foundation place,
And shifting before my eyes,
Once a solid stone,
Turning now to sand,
Washed away from me
And from solidity itself
By preposterous tides
To which you clung
In denial of all you once knew
And all you once taught,
So that truth disintegrated
Around self-serving falseness.
And as the castle crumbles,
From bottom to top,
I wonder what solid stone
Can I find now on which to perch?
What rock will not erode 
Before the tide of falsehood
That carried you and my trust in you
Away forever?

1. Have you ever felt betrayed by a group or individual you once trusted? Were you wrong to trust them in the first place, or did they change in some way? How did that affect you?
2. What did you lose when you were betrayed, and how have you reacted to that loss?
3. If the “castle” can be restored, what is our part in that?
4. Assuming that the “castle” cannot be restored, what do you do now to replace it and find the good things it used to offer you?

The Thinking Poet - By The Condo 

By The Condo

I drove by the condo 
Where we lived when you were born.
The trees we planted in the back
Are still there, unrecognizably tall.
But you aren't there.
The west wind still whispers
Its lullaby in the eves,
Just as it did when I was
Singing you to sleep.
But you aren't there.
The train came by,
The one I would scoop you up
In my arms and run to watch
As it squealed through the crossing.
But you aren't there.
The park across the street still beckons,
Bare branches reaching 
Through the December chill
With the enticement
Of swings and trails.
But you aren't there.
Fathers long for their boys
Like a part of their own bodies
Has been taken away,
A wound that draws together,
But never truly heals.
I drive away from the sweet pain of memory
And I find myself saying that,
If you were really gone,
I would be wrecked.

1. Who do you feel this way about? How would you describe your feelings? Do they know you feel that way?
2. Have you had the experience of going to a place you used to live, only to find that the life you had there is gone? Describe your experience.
3. What wound do you have that “draws together/But never heals”? What would bring healing?