Those private places remain the same as if you’ve never left.
Frozen in time, an eternal play place, a silent stage for the bereft.

Artwork on the refrigerator, your shoes still scattered on the floor,

Mary wrote this poem seven months
after her beloved husband, Bill, died
at the age of 79 from Alzheimer Disease

The other day I was ricocheting slowly
off the blue walls of this room,
moving as if underwater from typewriter to piano,
from bookshelf to an envelope lying on the floor,

The holiest of all holidays are those
Kept by ourselves in silence and apart,
The secret anniversaries of the heart.

I woke up next to
Grief today,
his bony arm stretched
round my waist like he owned me.

If Roses grow in Heaven, Lord
Please pick a bunch for me,
Place them in my daughter’s arms
And tell her they’re from me,
Tell her I love and miss her,

I am here among friends, smiling at their humor
And making plans for tomorrow.
But there is another person, lying curled in the corner,
Crying out in unbelievable pain.

Though we need to weep your loss,
You dwell in that safe place in our hearts
Where no storm or night or pain can reach you.

Your love was like the dawn

Thirteen years ago she'd brought him home,
this child who'd never had a home.
Nights, she tied her wrist to his
with a satin ribbon so he could sleep,
as if she could repair the dark

You asked, “How are you doing?”
As I told you, tears came to my eyes…
and you looked away
and quickly began to talk again.
All the attention you had give me drained away.

These poems are a selection from “ In Search of Silence” a collection of 45 poems by Chris Roe. The poems take you on a Personal Journey in search of Spiritual Peace. Poems of Love, Hope and Peace. This collection of work is available online at www.silentflightpublications.co.uk

The Mask
I have a face I put in place;
It's what I wear when folks are there.

For those only who want to see
the way they think I ought to be.

I live in times that have no light,
just cloudy darkness, endless night.