Grieving Paradox
As human,
You only
left your life behind.
On an
indefinite loop,
I
continuously fall in the love
Of your
works, your worlds, your wonders,
Your
heartbeat, your soul, your blood.
I want
you back so much,
To devour
more of your creations,
But that
is too selfish of me to even beg for.
But no
matter how much I hold on to your pieces,
Even when
I cry a thousand paper cranes,
You can
never come back, really.
We’re
strangers,
And
you’re dead,
But my
heart still breaks.
I love
you
But I
didn’t know you,
Yet you
gave me everything good in my life.
How To Mourn a Creator
How do you mourn a stranger that meant so
much to you?
How are you able to cry over someone
Who was just a moment ago a name next to
the word “by”?
How can you wail and weep over the grave of
someone
Whose only communication with you (&
many others)
Is through the silent miracle of a drawing,
a song, a story, a verse?
How dare you demand that they would come
back just to continue their work
Just for you,
Denying the tears of their families and
friends who need them the most?
How does one reconcile when the revelation
of their crimes and victims
Speak louder than your love and adoration
and flimsy excuses
Because you like something they created?
How To Mourn Creator II
When I heard the news,
I refused to believe it,
Wanting today to be more yesterday’s
normal,
Yet when the others wail and wept inside
their screens,
Then I couldn’t stop the tears.
I thought I was mourning you,
A person of words and flowers so beautiful
But really, I didn’t know you at all
And only cried over the broken promises
Of your future flowers, your future songs,
your future beauties.
You,
Who have spent decades learning and
mastering your abilities,
Who is a human being with a mundane life
but caring loved ones—
How could I boldly demand of you to come
back
Just to create my escape and my comfort,
Never allowing you to return to your life.
I wanted more of you.
Too late I realize how I, a stranger—
Who found your flower-songs,
Who worshipped your soul and heart,
Who indifferently saw you as a
conveyer-belt of circus-&-bread—
Caused you so much strife and burnout with
my greed and gratitude
That sapped your life away.
I’m not even worthy of mourning you.
Dana Trick - Born a first-generation Mexican-Canadian-American
autistic biromantic-demisexual with ADHD, Dana Trick lives in Southern
California where it is clearly foolish to wear black any day. Besides writing,
she spends/wastes her day by either reading weird books; researching history
because she has a history degree; drawing art and comics that she posts on
deviantART under Silencedbook9; and watching cartoons, anime, and Youtube
videos. Her work has been published online--Art of Autism, the Lothlorien
Poetry Journal, The Kolkata Arts, The Writer Shed, The Writers Club, and The
Ugly Writers—as well as in print anthologies: the 2018 Moorpark College Print
Review; the Poets’ Choice Realm of Emotions; Other Worldly Women Press’ Behind
Closed Doors; Free Spirit’s Historic Tales; Wingless Dreamer’s My
Glorious Quill and The Book of Black; Dragoon Soul Press’ Organic
Ink Volume 5; and The Ravens Quote Press’ Balm 2. She wishes the
reader a nice day.
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