Barefeet And Thorns
By Donetta Sifford
walking this thorny path,
my soles are bleeding.
Tripping over tombstones
making my way to her.
The first November she left,
snow floated, joining my tears.
I covered the Earth with my coat,
she was always cold natured.
I lay upon the ground.
I can still feel the rage burning.
Screaming for the gods
to let death consume me.
They ignored my demands.
Memory blurs, pushing me.
Broken dishes, jagged edges
scars deeply etched in my skin.
Bloody wrist, too many pills, still I remain.
Eighteen years since her departure
but to me she's no more gone
than the moon and stars.
Time is casualty to mourners.
Grief resides where nothing’s real.
I’ve learned to live with the knife
puncturing my lungs, dull pain
making it difficult to breathe.
There's a way to hurt and still
go forward in this world.
I hope I never find out how.
It'd feel too close to betrayal.
Donetta Sifford resides in Virginia, nestled in the Blue Ridge Mountains. She's enjoyed writing since elementary school. She's had one poem, Progress, published in an online journal, The Reverie.