I've had my fair share of sadness.
Some days of dread, of tears and some of tragedy.
I’ve been lingering through the depths of life, and overlooking through the vast, drowning stage of fright.
Today, I’ve seen another tragedy.
One of those days I cant forget, and never accept.
Ive always seen life as a fragile piece of inevitable glory and despair.
It’s a thread of breaking, tears, and falling
All people will break at some point.
All people will cry at some point.
All people will have their downfall.
It’s not as easy as it’s said, but it’s what it is.
People are fragile things
Third row at the aisle, six pairs of eyes dread.
Like a river of moments, thoughts, hopes and never-be-forgotten days,
Tears are shed.
Like splashes from the high top to the deep void of blue sea,
Sobs are heard.
Like the flowing, rumbling walk of the water,
Regrets are made.
Ive seen it.
And im seeing it again.
Before, im one of those pair of eyes.
Those who are reeling tapestries of memories from the past with the eyes of the others,
Those who do not hide between closed doors for a moment,
Those who have mourned, mourning, and will forever not move on, but move forward,
Those who will not forget the fallen,
Those who have murmured, or shouted, or thought ‘I love you’,
Those who have kindred souls who have karmic hearts,
Those who have lost in the games of life—
In the battle against the current—
But will continue.
With bravery, looking up ahead of what’s waiting to happen.
Will encounter stops, trip over stones or fall off some steep slide,
But will look forward.
Will strive forward.
Will walk forward.
Side by side, hand in hand.
Third row on the aisle,
I see some numerous stories told.
Some chapter left unread aloud,
But are always read alone.
Those characters who’ve been given eternal existence,
Those who have not in the story,
Whatever the plot, will still be a part of the story—
A part of some tragic, blissful, fearsome yet exciting journey.
Thirteenth of January.
Third row on the aisle.
Backs of black,
Shuddering and gasping,
Holding on, breathing hard,
Pain surfacing while the inhaling ragged,
A character in their story died.
But the story did not.
A character lost life,
But his existence did not.
All characters leave some chapters once in a while,
But they always come in flashbacks onwards.
Cry, tear up, lose hope, mourn.
But don’t forget to look up, to look forward.
To wipe those tears, to gather once again some hope,
To stop mourning and to start accepting.
Easier said than done,
But easier to be done that to be stuck.
Several new chapters are being written.
In a zombie apocalypse, some sacrifices are meant to be given.
But crying over a cooked flesh is useless.
Be brave.
Your story does not end here.
You story continues,
And the fallen hopes for you to reach your happily ever after.
For J.L.
---
This is a poem I wrote when I was at my uncle's funeral. The atmosphere was just so surreal and overwhelming, I couldn't make a single tear out of it because if I do, I knew they'd be in millions. So instead of expressing the sadness and fatality breathing around the whole room, I just chose to sit back and write.
I'm saying this to my uncle's family but I knew it would just make things harder for them bc I didn't experience it--they did. I'm in no position to do so.
But, whoever you are who's experiencing the same fatality and sadness my uncle's family is experiencing, I hope the message gets to you and you could learn to learn it.
Stand up, head high. Your story has not started yet.
-spyralle
