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Riding out the pain
Pain had summoned all of his forces in November.
A time bereft and a time dismembered.
In that day we cried all the way.
All the way we cried in that day,
to the place where Missing Love would stay.
We were all out of play,
at the end of ourselves you could say.
Navigating an incoming high tide of pain,
it overflowed and flowed over the banks of self will
and the embankments of our cheeks it did stain.
But where was the fount of the flood tide?
A strong river rapid of tears on the other side of the veil!
A storm from the spirit side had torrented us mid-sail.
A broken mountain of sorrow to climb again tomorrow.
In that day we cried all the way home.
The tears a mold as pain guided our genome.
Grief ploughed our hearts, breaking open the clods,
bending the iron rods,
as we thought of missing love,
fighting fierce like a dove,
in the hands of tormentors and captors.
Emotions off the scale but pain our steady guide.
Hope and faith holding at bay the surge,
pain our pilotís ride.
Every accumulating mile of distance piercing us through,
pain directing us to hold on and abide,
wait for the tide to subside.
Hope for the tide to turn and bring in loveís return.
On this sea of tears there was no place to hide.
So we sailed away from November
looking for the light on the other side.
We had no anchor but pain was our linking chain.
We had no sailing chart to follow but heartache and pain.
Paradoxically, in a no walls between there and here oasis,
we were feeling for our shore, riding out painís stasis.
As we came out the other side it had dried out from rain,
and we knew that our journey had returned again.
We stood on the horizon of a vast unknown plain,
or was it the rim of a cosmic drain for all the pain.
The air was filled to birthing with gain of function.
Pain cleared the atmosphere with a small ahem at this junction.
Knight Truelove Poems Ė CI-477070938