Eric Cockrell


Mourning


we who sit at the feet of angels
and drink alone, the bitter truth...
with no hand to hold against the night,
no kindred spirit, no flame of hunger.

we speak, there is no answer,
only the waiting that sweats & weeps.
the formless bound in a thousand faces
each yearning to be held, and named.

we who sit at the feet of angels...
and drink alone...

Submitted: Tuesday, July 19, 2011
Edited: Tuesday, July 19, 2011

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Comments about this poem (Mourning by Eric Cockrell )

  • Rookie Tai Chi Italy (7/19/2011 9:07:00 AM)

    Your poem addresses Mourning with the respect it deserves.

    You have to be alone is mournings deepest despair. However, we can take comfort in those who love us, and are there.

    Smiling at you

    Tai, thinking distraction in cleansing, order of the day (Report) Reply

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