I am a victim of the grip of death
Not necessarily of human flesh;
Rather the sticky shroud woven inside
Tarring the heart and blackening the mind
Loss, could of, should of, survivorship guilt;
Hopes of resurrect happiness all wilt,
Unless a better solvent I can find
To soak the shroud and restore my heart’s shine
For the mind has logic, life is finite;
The challenge it to have reason unite
Enduring love of the life upended
To my arrhythmic heart yet ascended
DEATH’S GRIP - SYNOPSIS
Ironically, the looming grip of death has been part of me since 2003 when the pre death rhythm, ventricular tachycardia, came suddenly and swiftly to my then physically fit body.
The temporary context of the word survivor is never really appreciated until death finally stakes its claim, especially when it does so with unapologetic cruelty by choosing to preempt my precious husband’s life first rather than mine.
Life’s challenge then becomes the need to restore the connection between the rational mind to my esoteric heart so some semblance of happiness and peace can be experienced by “the survivor”.
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