The Thief

Poem written 2018, the year my husband died

His soothing touch gone forever,
glistening stars were his eyes,
nothing left but an abyss of pain,
ashes and an unwashed shirt.

Brightest of souls, heaven’s gain,
warmth of his body intangible,
heartbroken and hurt,
élan vital united with aether.

A hurricane engulfs the lives of lovers in one full swoop,
My chest fills up with lead,
clanging chains choking my neck,
my worst fears dragging my feet,
a stinging cold pain.

Mind, heart, and body stolen
by this insane thief,
death, part of an inescapable loop,
An ugly beast that stamps out all joy.
Night and day, suffocating me with my own tears—
Its name is grief.

Morning and night, I am faced with my beloved’s death.
They systematically tortured his mind and body.
He was driven to end this misery.
His soul may be free,
But his legacy of suffering was passed on to me,
to carry this burden of torment
until I transform from this density.

Isolation. Abandoned.
Friends all disappear,
while death brings silence here.
Rawness and vulnerability my allies,
all that you fear.

Only those whom the thief stole from
recognize our suffering.
It’s so wrong.
I grew to hate being told I am strong.
There is no choice,
I gave up the day he died,
Yet we are inherently built to survive.

Though his suffering was inflicted by dark dissent,
What passed will go unpunished—no justice.
Malignity, removing our freedom and voice.
We have nothing.

Time passes without consent.
Breathing is the hardest.
I’d rather be reunited with my love,
filled with dread, with a new day dawning.

Every soul, unique as their human fingerprints,
those we cherish are etched into our spirit.
Love transcends dimensions of time or space,
Reconciling us when we exit this wretched place.

By virtue,
our souls made an avowal aeons ago,
to reunite in the aether
of higher dimensions filled with light.

by

Carlita Shaw (2018)