Say Nothing

Not much is of interest lately, 

our senses flooded with sharp

regret and memory that we pick 

apart and delicately explore

together, grasping at elusive

hope that the emptiness will

be diminished as we comfort

each other, each of us 

stricken with the other's pain

striving somehow to alleviate

our miserable bereavement.

We try to divert ourselves

but the thoughts, once normal,

come unbidden because they 

were integral to normal routine,

now shocking us anew with the

reality of loss.  A pained void

where she should be.  Our

thoughts turn to her constantly,

twisting the fact of her absence

like a jagged sharp edge of hurt

slashing our consciousness.

We try to avoid seeing those

who know us, to evade their

reaction on realizing the absence

of our companion.  It is inevitable

but we guard our thoughts of her

for they are too intimate to share and

too painful for casual display.  The

kind condolences well meant yet

pierce our psychic armour,

compelling us to the hermitage

our home has become in retreat.