I do not see the light.
I do not feel the warmth of love.
The emptiness that I am deafens my days.
Silence turns into auditory hallucinations.
I stand motionless
For long moments, every day, unable to move,
Think, or breathe. Impossible
As I have made my life
I am here existing in the nothingness
Still hoping—still hoping for light.
So sorry that this is your struggle. Praying for the Light.
Hoping is a promise for what’s to come. The whole poem has a sense of expectation and waiting mingled with deep grief and despair. Thank you for opening your soul, Jennifer. I’m sorry you’re getting torn asunder. The winds will shift. May it be soon.
Do you know this poem by Rilke? It helped me in my darkest hours.
“It’s possible I am pushing through solid rock
in flintlike layers, as the ore lies, alone;
I am such a long way in I see no way through,
and no space: everything is close to my face,
and everything close to my face is stone.
I don’t have much knowledge yet in grief
so this massive darkness makes me small.
You be the master: make yourself fierce, break in:
then your great transforming will happen to me,
and my great grief cry will happen to you.”