Sea of Grief

The ‘Sea of Grief’ can be a lonely place to be stranded. It is a true wilderness area. The internal wilderness that one can experience during grief can be equally as brutal and beautiful as travelling in a physical wilderness.

This short story was written when I was traveling through my own inner wilderness.

The Sea of Grief

In ‘Wait’, I’m waiting, oh when will it cease?
I just want to leave, give me some peace.

There was a time when I could do so,
But when Plan A sank, I no longer could go.

The trouble this causes, so pressures my head,
It won’t go away, as heavy as lead.

The scale is real, on this vast Sea of Grief,
No matter my action, there is no relief!

I’m not sitting idle in this lifeboat called ‘Wait’,
I keep myself busy to push away fate.

But my results are empty, nothing does show,
‘Wait’ is the teacher, can I let it be so?

Resources dwindle, I cling to the edge,
Exposed, raw, alone, to health I do pledge.

On the horizon, land it appears,
I will myself there and fantasize about cheers.

But just within reach of the island so strong,
Wind does change, is all of my hope gone?

Against the elements, I paddle, kick, scream,
Island drifts away like an unreachable dream.

Creativity is the only way I can cope,
Suffering alone, it gives a glimmer of hope.

Is talking a strategy, silent I’ve become.
To loosen myself of this World of Glum.

A friend I create with what I have got,
The form of a stick, an artist I’m not!

Together we rhyme, talk and discuss,
The art of decisions. is it a plus?

Two wilderness’s collide. The pain in my head.
Knuckles are white. Jaw clenched with dread.

‘Wait’ is wrecked dangerously,
No choice than to leap out into the sea.

Waves of emotion come out of the deep,
The size of mountains, wild and steep.

Power of wilderness, no greater test,
Will I survive or be washed to rest?

Wake up I do, washed up on the sand,
Rinsed out but alive, still hope in my hand.

Wait has gone, my dream now true,
Safely ashore, but what will I do?

Is this world the same? Can I fit in?
I try tell my story amid all the din.

It does not matter coz I am not heard,
My stories, “They’re absurd.”

These stories, my outlet, are just who I am,
I express weakness, I no longer do dam.

My revelation is in the people I see,
I understand their pain with more empathy.

My pain’s not gone, but now I create,
Thankful for the lifeboat called ‘Wait’.

Photography: Jon Earle / Aukje van Gerven

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