Endings comes in many forms
sometimes in weeping fits,
like a child who needs rest
and sometimes in silence,
where the piece of glass
that is your heart,
once rendered unto dust,
must be forged into something new,
rather than be glued
into what it had been.
The only problem
is that glass must needs a forge to be reborn,
and all hearts hate the furnace
that makes them what they are.
About Catastrophe Jones
Wretched word-goblin with enough interests that they're not particularly awesome at any of them. Terrible self-esteem and yet prone to hilarious bouts of hubris. Full of the worst flavors of self-awareness. Owns far too many craft supplies. Will sing to you at the slightest provocation.
This entry was posted in Poetry
and tagged grief
. Bookmark the permalink
it’s the fire that’s the sweetest sometimes. And endings aren’t the end.
Exactly. I’m glad you get me, Lewin.
Hey, I wanted to say I love your poetry. Felt that poem was very fitting with the end of the year. But anyway, I wanted to post this on your about section, but I couldn’t really find it -_-
I nominated for this here award, “Very Inspiring Blogger Award.” Check out the rules of the game here http://ravenapotheosis.com/2015/01/03/2014-is-done-very-inspiring-blogger-award/
Oh my goodness. Thank you! I’m so flattered. Will check out your post as soon as possible.