Out of Reach
Words come,
go, whether I stop
to think about the pain
or drive it from my mind.
Never really gone,
it rises when I fall victim
to regret, consider wasted
moments when I long
for those out of reach,
no longer here. I reach
for words they will never hear,
never sure if the words
will reach me.
This poem is my response to Poetics: From a place of pain, the prompt from Ingrid at dVerse ~ Poets Pub, which is “to revisit a time in your life when you have felt pain (emotional or physical, acute or chronic) and come out on the other side stronger.” I don’t think I’ve ever survived such a moment in a way that made me any stronger. Instead, I consider myself just as vulnerable.
rivrvlogr 
Ah the despair of unconnectedness.
Truly stirring write, Ken.
Thanks for dropping by to read mine
Much💜love
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Thank you, Gillena. 🙂 ❤
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Beautiful. I think people forget sometimes that the trick to surviving pain isn’t so much about getting stronger, but rather NOT letting it steal your gentleness. 🙂
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That’s a nice reminder. Thank you.
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Way too often for each of us, pain rides the coattails of tragedy, and there is no epiphany or happy conclusion. I agree with you there. Emotional or physical, pain can be a permanent monkey on your back.
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Sadly so, but yes, a part of life.
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Being Poets we tend to feel deeply. This is incredibly moving, Ken! 💝
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Thank you, Sanaa.
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Ken, I think being vulnerable is what keeps us human. I do think you can choose to detach from it when we start feeling imbalanced. If we believe in our strength as much as we believe in our vulnerability, balance can be maintained.
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Thank you, Lisa. I don’t think of my strength as being any less than it was, but I also consider that one loss does not prepare me for the next.
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You’re welcome.
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Some absences are never filled. And yet we can fill other places and live well, without forgetting. What Lisa said is true–our refusal to become bitter keeps us alive. (K)
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I agree on both points. Welcome each day and face each challenge as it comes.
Thank you, Kerfe.
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You have expressed this very well Ken!
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🙂 Thanks, Dwight.
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I reach for words they will never hear … such a lonely, solitary emotion. Your poetry is beautifully composed …. and, yes both my partner and I healed in time.
i
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I like to think that those I have lost knew how I felt about them, especially my parents. I don’t think I failed to express that to them, but now that I’m older I appreciate how much my children express their love for me.
Thank you, Helen, for sending my thoughts in that direction.
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A potent portrait of grief and regret, Ken, so gently worded I love your description of how the pain
‘rises when I fall victim
to regret’
It doesn’t do any good, but sometimes we can’t help but regret words unsaid.
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Indeed. Hopefully, we learn from the past.
Thank you, Ingrid, and thanks for the prompt.
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I agree with what you say in the intro. I can’t think that pain either physical or grieving have made me any stronger. How could they? They’re wounds that don’t ever completely heal and nor should they. We think life should be a bed of roses and if it’s not, something’s wrong. It’s just life, thorns and all.
Your analogy of reaching for words, which are in turn reaching for you, and the essence of them remaining out of reach, is so good. They’re only words and belong to everyone. Pain is part of us.
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Yes, pain is a part of life. And yes, words do belong to everyone, and I’m glad for that. I believe it’s what allows me to find inspiration in the words that others offer to us.
Thank you for your thoughtful comment, Jane.
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🙂
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I can’t really add to the comments above. It’s so true. Pain doesn’t make us stronger–I suppose sometimes we learn a way to cope with it. I’ve reached for those words, too.
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The tragedy of regret is that we both long to speak to those gone and may not even hear the words ourselves. Very well said!
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I can feel this, a powerful wording Ken.
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Thank you, Paul. The heart speaks truth.
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O, my pleasure indeed Ken, it resonated
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Reaching for words to reach another’s heart is one of life’s challenges – can take many iterations with some people!! One huge lesson I learned (v e r y slowly) is that some people simply repel words – needing some sort of action instead. Whereas some of us yearn for words while overlooking all the nonverbal overtures. (Makes for an interesting marriage!)
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I’ve never been very verbal. I try harder these days.
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So beautifully and frankly expressed, Ken, and the pain is inescapable.
pax,
dora
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Thank you, Dora.
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My pleasure.
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i don’t know about stronger, either. i suppose enduring is a kind of strength, but I also wonder if the concept of strength is another word for separation. be strong means don’t feel, yes? and why shouldn’t we feel?
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Separation as a shield, possibly, but I think it comes down to knowing what to value.
Thank you for your thoughts.
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The pain of being alone… it feels like crying out in the darkness.
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Yes, sometimes it is.
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