Dying to let go

the child still lives in her mind,
the child that she was, who got left behind.
the idealised scene displays multiple shades of green,
with buttercup highlights: pale blue sky, not a dead leaf in sight –
and she in primrose dress, though she remembers she always wore jeans,
cartwheeling across the field, racing to the stream, leaping,
living life, not knowing it wasn’t for keeping.

she breathes the cycle of the days
from wracking pain to morphine haze
and all the moments in between
inside her brain, by all unseen.

she regrets all her wasted years
her fears, the cowardice, the helpless tears
when she learned that adult decisions could be too difficult
to do more than contemplate, that she was incapable of being brave,
and shame hits her in waves, guilt for the children she didn’t save
failing to walk with them, though the door and far away.
it haunts her, and she will take it to the grave.

she breathes the cycle of the days
from wracking pain to morphine haze
and all the moments in between
inside her brain, by all unseen.

from wake of day to wake of day
to wake of day again, she sleeps, she wakes,
and in those breaks between the pain, she aches
to change the past, to break the chain, to take back time
to childhood days, to be the way she should have been,
could have been, if they had been, if she had been –
then morphine dreams replace the ache,
and heaven seems to take their place
she sinks into their wam embrace,
she sleeps, she wakes,
she thinks again
she feels the pain
then sleeps
again

she breathes the cycle of the days
from wracking pain to morphine haze
and all the moments in between
inside her brain, by all unseen.

and when her children shed a tear she smiles her smile from ear to ear,
and says don’t fret, I’ll soon be gone and you’ll be better on your own,
while to her siblings all she’ll say is I’ll be off, I’m on my way.
I’d follow you but you’re too slow, I couldn’t wait for you to go.
I’m off to find a sunny place where I may never lose a race.

she breathes the cycle of the days
from wracking pain to morphine haze
and all the moments in between
inside her brain, by all unseen.

©Jane Paterson Basil

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11 thoughts on “Dying to let go

  1. Greetings from California! I’m bored to death at work so I decided to
    check out your site on my iphone during lunch break. I love the info you present here and can’t wait to take a look when I get
    home. I’m amazed at how fast your blog loaded on my cell phone ..
    I’m not even using WIFI, just 3G .. Anyways, wonderful blog!

    Like

  2. Sad, Jane. The lay out of the poem is visually very effective. I don’t know how to do that, but I gather it’s through HTML. I barely now wkhat it stands for let alone how to use it ! xxxx

    Liked by 1 person

    1. It’s not HTML – although I have used HTML for poems in the past.. If you look at the toolbar on Visual, you’ll see three icons with horizontal lines – left, centre and right. You just highlight the bit you want in a different position and click the appropriate icon – and Bob’s your uncle (I wonder where that silly phrase comes from…) 🙂

      Liked by 1 person

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