Lunar Lullabies from a Silver Siren

Poems, short stories, and musings from the lady known as Silver.

Mourning Sickness

A moment of silence for those things which have passed. Before us lays the flesh which must.... must be buried and returned to that which it came. For it has had its time. It had its season to flourish as it would. But now it must die so that others may live. For as long as this earth remains, there will always be seedtime and harvest. But in the midst of that cycle of sowing and reaping lies the passing on of what once was. Lives must be laid down so that others may rise up. Truly, parting is sweet sorrow.

These things we nurtured, cherished and poured ourselves into, for better or for worse. We have watched them grow to produce whatever fruit they would in our lives. Oh, how sweet that nectar that flowed from each bite. How filling the flesh that found its home between our lips. But what thing born of the flesh can last? This tattered world, broken and bruised, trying so hard to struggle for survival despite its destined demise. Even knowing that... we sample. We taste. We reveal in it, at times. Oh, the tree I have growing in my backyard may be distasteful to you, but don't look at me as though you have not planted seeds of your own, which you water both day and night.

So here I stand, looking at the bare branches, the wilted leaves, the soil that has been sucked dry in an effort to feed those roots. I wonder what it was all for. The harvest was good, oh too good for anyone's good, and I ask myself if I should make an effort to resurrect this dead thing growing in my garden. It would be no small feat for me to do so since I was the one that brought it to life in the first place. I know it like I know myself, and I know just which branches to prune and which spots to water to give it life again.

But for what? Oh, maturity has kicked in far too well to fool myself like that anymore. I cannot be the little girl sneaking candy from her father's jar when I think he's not looking. I know I'm better than that, even as my tastebuds cry out for another sweet flavor or sip from a fountain that was not meant for me. I know... I know...

So I will mourn you, even as I rejoice from the transition from death to life. For while my knowledge helps, it does not change the fact that I loved you far more than I should have. So as death settles into these roots, at least I will allow myself to feel the pain keenly. I won't run from it or act like it isn't there. The least I can do is properly witness the death and the burial of something I invested so much into.

To those things once cherished that now must be laid to rest. Sorrow lasts through this night, and mourning will eventually pass into morning. Every night must end at some point...

Not Alone