I want to tell you
Anger, anger,
anger, anger, anger!
In this moment
it all comes
crashing down
on me and it
crushes my lungs
and robs the
breath right
from my lips.
And then again
am I really sad for you,
or for me?
Sometimes it burns,
this sadness,
and I can’t fill up
the emptiness or dismiss
these ever-present thoughts
of you, of loving you
and holding you in
my arms and kissing the
top of your head,
and you smell so sweet
like all little babies do.
I love you, I love you
I love you, I love you…
Most of the time I just love you
and crave you near me,
like you used to be
so very long ago…
I want to hug you,
and know you again.
I want to keep my precious memories
as dear to me as they are now
and still get to have you growing older
like other children do.
I want to tell you how much I love you.
I want to tell you that.
.
steadily skipping stones 
So sad, there really are no words to respond with. Thank you for sharing your pain with us.
You’re so sweet… It’s not actually my pain, though. I wrote that way back in 1993 after a visit to The Wall. I should have clarified when I posted that.
I don’t have the poetry in me like I used to, but I’ve been including some old stuff every now and then. Maybe it will come back to me.
I’m glad you clarified! The Wall had the same effect on me. I saw it for the first time a few years ago. I got up early for a run and had the entire Mall, Lincoln Memorial, Wall, etc. to myself. It was extremely moving to see the wall of names and mementos, letters, and photos people had left.
I seem to have lost my poetic voice as well. Maybe life is just more uneventful and even keeled these days!
I’ve been there several times, and each one left me with different emotions. I had visits that were unexpectedly educational and interesting. There were times when I felt like an intruder. Once it felt rather like any other monument in DC.
This particular time was at night and it was so, so quiet. My friend and I had time to read everything that had been left behind and it was a much more moving and real kind of experience.
I think you’re right about the uneventful part. I have led an unremarkable and uneventful life for far too long. What’s there to write about?