I don't want this sadness

I have watched Death creep

Inch...by inch...by inch... 

Until, finally, 

It makes its move,

Bringing grief, 

But also relief.

I have seen Death rob

Cradles, wombs, wedding beds.

Striking randomly, 

It leaves in its wake

Anguish, sorrow,

Pain-filled tomorrows.

I have known Death from afar,

As a fact of life, as clinical.

It has taken—family, 

Friends, strangers—

Slowly and sudden, 

This angel unbidden.

I hear Death knocking

At my door—not for me—

For one I love.

I don't want this sadness.

It's time to learn, Death says.

Come in.

My mom is doing NaBloPoMo this month, which has been great because she's already shared so many wonderfully interesting stories. Today she said that it was amazing to her how writing daily has spurred ideas in her mind. 

I haven't committed to NaBloPoMo publicly (until now), but I did so privately. Unfortunately, I'm having the opposite experience. Though I have a lot to write about my words are seizing up inside of me, instead of flowing out in a verbose river of prose, they're leaking out in poetry, quite unsure of themselves (and whether they'll be able to stay the flood of emotions behind them).

I am not a poet, but words are good for my soul (so I'll keep trying to write something every day).

For an update on Karen, see here.

(Is that link a TLDR link? Let me sum up: her status as not changed. She is critically ill but in stable condition.)