I wrote this poem when I was half-crazed with grief. I was sitting in my garden in early summer just as everything was at long-last coming into bloom after a very protracted, cold winter and spring, of which I had intentions to write a post about but I could not, such was the depth of my grief at the time.
Instead, what I wrote was this poem. I decided to post it anyway, together with the photographs which I had taken that day of my roses and other blooms.
The contrast of the beauty of my garden against the rawness of the words arising out of the pain in my soul created what I called, ‘High Into The Blue’.
High Into The Blue.
Even though I break and shatter,
Even though I cry alone;
Even then I know you are with me,
Even then I know I am home.
How do I heal from this? Is it possible when I am so very lost?
My acid tears cannot quench the raging torrent of a red hot pain coursing through me.
This is a good sign.
At least it means I can feel something. It is easier to feel anger than deal with the naked truth of a grief that is as stark and as harsh as a wild, black sea.
Tossed about as I am, yet I’ve never felt more grounded that I ever have right now. I cannot understand it. The truth is I want to be angry but I can’t. So I have no choice but to face the grief in all its stripped down glory.
It is sublime. A thing of perverse beauty.
As I hold your hand darling girl in the dead of night, there is an unbreakable love surrounding us.
The darkest hour is before dawn.
Dawn arrives bringing with it sweet relief.
For there is always hope. There is always faith. But the greatest of these is
Quiet. Still. Colour.
Serenade me if you will;
Reach out and touch me in the cold beauty of this hour.
Heal me with your cool breeze, with your handmade colours and your music from heaven;
Stir me with your symphony and bring me back to life.
Fall upon me Summer Rain and speak to me with your promises of deliverance;
Softly whisper them to me so many times that I shall never forget them.
Then take my burden and lift me high into the blue.
Then I know that it is well
It is well with my soul.
All photographs and poem (c) copyright Sherri Matthews July 2013