Lament at the Water’s Edge

⚠️ Content warning: loss and grief

This is a lament for a world trembling on the edge — for mothers, for children, for the ache that rises when love fails. May it remind us that even in mourning, compassion is holy.

Woe is me — I grasp my head ‘tween tired hands,

Not at rest, my shoulders slumping slowly.

Not with the world as it stands — at precipice’s cliff,

Poised on a knife’s edge, with violent urges rising,

Sharper, more poignant, as a mother tells her child to sleep

In the pool’s watery embrace, for love’s heart was lacking.

We, with Spirit, weep — a wail so loud it ascends to heaven,

A prayer, an aroma of compassion for the lost, for the departed.

Now we shudder as we consider the cost —

The stories unsung, little fires never allowed to rage.

I sigh, and shake my head in sorrow,

Tears falling down my lined face for the morrow.

Still, at times such as these, I’m reminded:

We are always better with Him than here.

Even as our hearts yearn for the lost,

It remains for us who remain to bear the cross,

And take another step in the ones He took — so long ago.

Sincerely Dust,