Nameless
For all those humans who, like elephants, steel away from the herd to silently return to their forgotten children’s bones:
A child without parents is an orphan.
A wife without her husband is a widow.
A husband without his wife is a widower.
A mother without her child has no name.
I am nameless.
My name must never be uttered.
To breathe
a whisper,
would shatter
the fragile existence,
a desperate grip on deliberate lies
and careful deceits
post mortem
denial of truth
that we fear
ignorance more than enlightenment.
I am nameless.
An identity un-denied for the gift
of the naming
is to manifest
the dark matter
of grief
invisible, yet tugging at the fabric
of happiness
threads of bliss
tapestries woven
of the hope
that we dare not light up to reveal
I am nameless.
The unseen skeleton,
cloaked and cowled,
a looming dark
fearful light
prolonging the distance
between me and you
A universe bent,
the elephant man
born to live
in beauty’s disregard.
I am nameless.
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About Post Author
I look forward to everything you write. And each time, I am more profoundly affected than before — something that I thought would be an impossibility. I think of you, I ache for you, I have deep fondness for you, yet I don’t know you. You have the very precious gift of expression, especially regarding the loss of a child. My has not been through death but difficulty. With life their is hope. Without…I can not possibly begin to comprehend your pain accompanied with the loss of all the dreams, hopes, birthdays that should have been, graduations, wedding that should have been. Grandchildren that should have been. I had all of those and I still have hope.
You are deep within my heart and soul.
Fran Wollenman