This Special Hell

This Special Hell

"I would thou hadst my bones, and I thy news." - William Shakespeare

This Special Hell Part One: These many bournes. I occupy The quest for rest in death
The cry of why
The please be me instead of she
The cry of why can't I?

Future bournes. I straddle
Yesterday, today, and tomorrow
Stretched by hope contracted in sorrow
Expanded to forever, as I borrow
The faith of a saint
To stay with my daughter.

This special hell in which I dwell
Defies my telling insists I tell

Just try to tell, just try and try
Just keep on praying at the altar of why
Just keep genuflecting in the presence of why
Just keep picking questions off the tree of why
Keep casting and reeling on the River Why
Just keep on digging at the well of why
Just keep sailing on the sea of why
Just keep wailing the weep of why
Just keep spelunking the caves of why
Just keep climbing the cliffs of why
Combing the nits of why
Wasting your wits on why
Never know why. Never
Learn why. No
Why. Part Two: Grope. Gasp, grieve. Go on.
You are bereaved. Let yourself be.
Stay awhile in I can't believe
This special hell is nowhere near
As special as you or who you grieve.
As hard as it may be to believe,
The same love that sent you here
Has invested in you with the courage to leave.

All you need to leave behind
Is not your love or the one you love
The one you love was never here.

All you need to leave behind
Is why.

Why is hell.

The answer is in the question,
The destination is in the quest.
Before she was born you knew you were blessed;
Although she is passed you are still blessed.
She loves you still and she still will
You love her better you will love her best
When you have moved beyond
This special hell.

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Barbara Bales 1997-2002 all rights reserved
Poems - Diary Entries - Impact Statement Delivered to the Court at the sentencing hearing of the woman who killed my only daughter, Bekah - Geocities Indie Journal

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