Despite the Fact That flesh staggers down Stone steps Into the cellar of the grave. That hearts are hammered flat As foil on the horn Of the world-anvil. That children watching The shuttle carrying Their teacher into space Watched it go to pieces... Now you expect The poem to say what Is still true despite All this — something About grace or beauty Or love or all Of the above And what a miracle it is That the world still turns Despite these facts Even if only because It knows no better, Like a dog licking his Dead owner’s blood. But there is no Counterweight to sorrow. How could there be When joy is so light? And yet (There it is, you think) The ranchers who Found the debris Found themselves Looking at the sky In a way they hadn’t since They were children.
Hey Austin, this is such a haunting poem and I found myself returning to it a few times; I actually linked to your poem in my most recent poem titled ‘dawn’ and I wanted to let you know! I hope this piece receives a wider audience. ‘But there is no counterweight to sorrow’ is going to stay with me for a long time!
This is so kind, Anagha - glad that poem resonated with you! Maybe I was wrong to write that "there is no counterweight to sorrow" - hearing from a reader is a joy.
Hey Austin, this is such a haunting poem and I found myself returning to it a few times; I actually linked to your poem in my most recent poem titled ‘dawn’ and I wanted to let you know! I hope this piece receives a wider audience. ‘But there is no counterweight to sorrow’ is going to stay with me for a long time!
This is so kind, Anagha - glad that poem resonated with you! Maybe I was wrong to write that "there is no counterweight to sorrow" - hearing from a reader is a joy.