Shattered

Poems about grief and depression

  Something has ceased to come along with me.
Something like a person: something very like one.
        And there was no nobility in it
           Or anything like that.
                               (from “Death Of A Son” 
                                by Jon Silkin)

I am moved by fancies that are curled
  Around these images, and cling:
 The notion of some infinitely gentle
      Infinitely suffering thing.

Wipe your hand across your mouth, and laugh;
  The world revolves like ancient women
      Gathering fuel in vacant lots.
                               (from “Preludes” 
                                 by T.S. Eliot)