This Poem was Submitted By: DeniMari Z. On Date: 2009-10-06 01:12:24 . . . Click Here To Mail this Poem to a Friend!

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Pain In The Beginning & End

No splendor felt or bathed when one son lies in his grave. Under dirt, dust and bones no spirit to unearth sad ruin tending home. What death has done to me has branded my soul endlessly. Isolated room where I screamed with pain as the doctors worked a miracle of love a joy I gained. Next were horrid screams Too blurred to be heard as the police spoke so slowly the words of death had occurred. "For God so gave.........." Then took him alone but left the knife slicing inside his very first home.

Copyright © October 2009 DeniMari Z.

Additional Notes:
Deni is writing; for therapeutic reasons, 26 months gone by since my son Shaun died. I have finally given in - and go to intensive grief counseling three times a week. Trying to get passed this event on my own was not working. In honor of my Chief; for where ever his energy is tonight - my love continues to grow - each day.

This Poem was Critiqued By: James C. Horak On Date: 2009-10-31 19:29:13
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 10.00000
Grief is not something we make sense of, with,, like love is simply there, or isn't. Likewise we don't produce well with it, but reach out for others to hold our hand, give us solace, press us to believe there is more to living than to long for the past. These are such pleas, and could any of us press you close, I'm certain we would. A child you bore and lost...nothing can I imagine worse. Just don't worry about how others might feel about your dealing with it...we all know it comes to each differently. And may never completely be behind you. I wouldn't imagine it could. But we care, my dear. And hope for you better days and nights that bring newer mornings. JCH

This Poem was Critiqued By: Duane J Jackson On Date: 2009-10-16 10:39:34
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 10.00000
Hi Deni, One can sense the feeling of pain expressed here. The wording used is strong - it burns with feeling - and some of the imagery os very good too. You have found a doorway through poetry. 'no spirit to unearth'/ 'left the knife slicing'/ 'what death has done to me has branded...' > great lines. I would re-work - 'isolated room where i screamed with pain...'/ 'police spoke so slowly the words'/ I was touched by this piece. Duane.
This Poem was Critiqued By: Lora Silvey On Date: 2009-10-10 17:34:33
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 1.00000
Deni, You offer us a well thought out, well constructed poem in an easy smooth flowing format. Your verbiage demands the reader to contemplate what is being set and to give quanitive value, for even where it might appear harsh it speaks of infinite possibilities and of a profound awakening in ones conciousness. All lessons are not always so easy to learn and oft quite painful however we are all being molded as a jeweler would pour metal to fire in order to purify and temper... Your poem will speak to many, if even on different levels, it has a strong clear voice. Well done, one of your best. Lora
This Poem was Critiqued By: Claire H. Currier On Date: 2009-10-08 01:14:06
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 1.00000
Powerful emotions penned in this one my friend....words cannot honestly say how one feels when reading all of your parent should have to feel that sharp knife slicing within its first home. I am sad for you, but I also rejoice with your choice of seeking help in grief counseling and I know in helping yourself 'heal from within' you are also helping others with your work. Shaun is watching over you as your love continues to grow. God Bless, Claire
This Poem was Critiqued By: Mark Andrew Hislop On Date: 2009-10-06 10:34:37
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 1.00000
Dear Deni No-one can feel these things more keenly than a mother can. I doubt any mother feels it more keenly than you. This is quite searing in its intensity. I understand it has one major purpose: self-medication. I know that purpose well, so to some extent I have to resist my usual mode of response. Being a poem is a secondary purpose here, I suspect. I realise I could be wrong. But for the little it may be worth, I have one suggestion. The title of this poem is so rich with possibility that I think you'd better serve your purpose by including it somewhere in the body of the poem and having a simpler title. I think it adds less poignancy than it could in its current position. With best wishes always Mark
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