Poetry Everyday

[Edna]

The Empty Place

I set the table for two,
though I know
only one will sit.

I walk to speak a word,
forgetting,
and the silence catches me
like a knife in the chest.

Loss is not the end of you—
it is the presence of your absence,
the heavy shadow
that moves when I do,
never leaving,
never whole

 

[Edna]

The Weight of Absence

I did not know
emptiness had a shape
until you left.

It is not silence—
silence can be gentle.
It is not darkness—
darkness at least
holds the promise of stars.

It is a weight,
an invisible stone
strapped to the chest,
pressing down
even in sleep.

The world moves forward,
as it always does—
flowers bloom,
children laugh,
the sun insists on rising.

But I walk through it
like a ghost,
half-alive,
half-remembering.

For love does not end—
it lingers,
it haunts,
it carves its initials
into the soul.

And grief—
grief is simply
love's shadow,
cast long and endless
in your absence.

 

[Edna]

The Door That Won't Close

There is a door in me
that you opened,
and when you left,
you did not shut it.

Now the wind pours through—
cold, unrelenting,
carrying your name
like ash in a storm.

I try to seal it,
but grief is clever.
It slips beneath the cracks,
flooding the room
where I keep your memory.

Some days,
I almost welcome it—
for if the door closed,
I fear you'd be gone
forever.

 

[Edna]

Broken Time

The clocks do not work
the same since you left.
Minutes linger too long,
hours vanish
without reason.

I measure time
by the distance from you—
every sunrise,
every empty chair,
another mile added
to the ache.

And yet,
in dreams,
you are as close as breath.
I wake with your name
still warm in my mouth,
and the day feels
emptier than before.

For loss
is not the end of time.
It is time
fractured,
forever out of rhythm.

 

[Edna]

Weight of the Invisible

The heaviest pain
is not the kind the body shows.
It is the weight no eye can see—
the quiet breaking
that happens behind the ribs.


You wake with it.
You walk with it.
It lays down in your chest
when you try to sleep.

And still—
you carry it.

No one applauds.
No one sees.
But each day you rise
with that invisible weight,
you prove something vast:
that strength is not glory,
it is survival.

 

[Edna]

The Thread

Suffering unravels you.
It pulls at every seam,
every stitch,
until you are nothing
but tangled thread
scattered across the floor.

But even then,
a hand—sometimes unseen—
begins to gather you.

Not to weave you
into what you were,
but to make of you
something new.

Suffering is the needle.
Love is the thread.
And the tapestry,
though dark in places,
is still whole.

 

[Edna]

The Unbroken Step

The road is long,
and it does not care
how tired your feet are.

It stretches,
merciless,
into horizons you cannot see.

But still—
you take one more step.
Not because it is easy,
not because the end is clear,
but because stopping
would mean surrender.

And something inside you,
something nameless,
refuses to bow.

So the step comes.
And then another.
And though no one sees it,
you are winning
with every inch.

 

[Edna]

Flint and Stone

Perseverance is not fire.
It is not a sudden blaze.
It is flint against stone—
over, and over, and over.

Sparks come,
die,
and still you strike.
Your hand bleeds,
your arm shakes,
but you do not stop.

And at last,
when others have turned away,
a flame rises.
Small, but alive.
Born not of luck,
but of relentless will.

 

[Edna]

The Root

A tree does not rise overnight.
It buries itself first,
in silence,
in darkness,
pushing its roots deep
where no eye can praise it.

Storms come,
winds tear,
seasons wither its leaves.
But the root holds.

That is perseverance—
the unseen strength
that keeps you standing
when all else
would fall.

 

[Edna]

Before the Beginning

I do not believe we met by chance.
Somewhere before breath,
before the clay of our bodies,
our souls found each other.

I imagine it—
two lights crossing
in the vast silence of eternity,
promising: "When the world is made,
I will find you."

And so I did.
Not once, not twice,
but in every lifetime—
I keep finding you,
like a river that refuses
to forget the sea.

 

[Edna]

Love Is Not Soft

Love is not only tenderness.
It is a storm that breaks you open.
It is the ache of missing someone
even as they stand beside you.


It is sacrifice,
it is fury,
it is surrender,
it is resurrection.


Love is the knife
that cuts away loneliness.
It is the fire
that burns down the walls we build.
It is the hand that drags us,
half-broken,
back into life.


Do not call love gentle.
It is fierce.
It is holy.
It is the closest thing
to forever we will ever touch.

 

[Edna]

The Forever Place

When I look at you,
I do not see a face—
I see the universe choosing
to take form.

Your eyes are the place
where time collapses,
where yesterday and tomorrow
kneel to the moment
we exist in now.

If love is an ocean,
you are both the tide
and the shore.

If love is a sky,
you are both the sun
and the endless dark
that holds the stars.

And when I am gone—
when my voice is nothing
but a ghost in the wind—
know this:
my love will not follow me.
It will stay,
here with you,
forever.