How it was.

A pattern?
There is no pattern.
How could there be?
All I knew was the tearing inside
Like Prometheus,
Which I felt at the waking of each new day,
After those cruel few seconds
When, just for those fleets of dawn’s eye opening,
I forgot.

There is no pattern.
It just hurts less.

Linking this to Lisa’s prompt at d’Verse poets to write a poem relating ‘to one or more of Kubler-Ross’ stages of grief (denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance) in relation to your, or another’s, current state of being’:( My piece relates to the past. Personally, I do not hold with human experience always following a set pattern of responses.


25 thoughts on “How it was.

    1. I have read your moving Haibun, Ain. (I don’t seem to be able to respond on the link). Your words are heavy with pain, yet lifting with the beautiful ending. I hope you are safe.


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