Never-ending Dirge

a poem

Photo by Igor Ribeiro from Pexels

Finding my air, my breath

is like reclaiming the space

in my lungs

as mine.

It has been stolen from me

particle by particle

in these moments of grief.

My grief is in the eaves –

circling the rafters of my mind

waiting to pounce.

The bats are in a tizzy

and my heart fills

with the venom of their many bites

as I fall victim

to rage.

I wish there was someone to yell at,

I wish there was someone to blame

for giving you cancer

and causing you undue amounts of pain.

I wish you had relief,

I wish you no more suffering

the dirge feels never-ending.