News drops silently,

the opening of a mail,

barely a click from the keyboard

and a reality forms that was not there before.


The day fills with holes,

thoughts slip through

and come back reluctantly,

distorted, lacking limbs.


The day becomes the news,

the news is sung in the hedges,

strummed by crickets,

but nothing stops the ache.


Loss is like that,

and the staring into the void

that has opened up before the feet,


and the fear grins and grows,

that all the colour in the world

will pour away into the hungry dark.

Published by

Jane Dougherty

I used to do lots of things I didn't much enjoy. Now I am officially a writer. It's what I always wanted to be.

11 thoughts on “Loss”

  1. I’m so sorry again about your loss. I understand the putting it into poetry, and at the same time having no words for it.
    The grinning fear gave me shivers.

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