I’ve discovered a thick bell
inside of me
that elegiac poetry rings
a terribly deep booming
knell
It has always been there, I can tell
but I had forgotten
I think it is in all of us
a human ache, a fathomless
well
Being dead while alive mutes its swell
wraps the bell in fog and distance
and it must be one of the Mysteries
that you have to be alive to feel
its peal
that resounding shake of loss in your core
that throws all semblance to hell
Depression… could its fog be protection?
from all we have lost and are losing?
But a quelling that keeps us dead
In the face of death
And life
A society that does not realize it is in mourning
that grief is appropriate
that an elegy is going unsung
yet still death is
come
