N J Griffiths

Tag: grief

  • Aftermath

    Skies stretch over nothing. 
    Truth barrelling down at you, 
    white light and brazen beyond
    God – when was the last time? 

    Words and silence arrive to
    splutter the guts of the matter over me.
    It was not you, not duality,
    not love, not secrets.
    Time bends and, softly,
    reveals. 

    Midnight did not bring
    your first sighting, Puss,
    nor give the Owl his wings.
    You are the sum of every hidden
    moment and only half its 
    part, now. 

    Words and silence bind you up, 
    sentenced to myth and past.
    There is just you, not duality, 
    not love, not secrets. 

    A loss of time, now fraction
    found. 

    © All rights reserved. Nia Griffiths 2020.

  • Freudenberg

    That grey-scale paperweight town still

    lies heavy on my mind.

    Thrust upon an ocean of gold

    and cherry leaves, it stood silent

    and unfinished;

    an outline of houses made with

    oil-black ink

    waiting for the warmth of

    paint.

    Some will tell you

    that if you head east

    towards the sun-warmed hills,

    the sketched out town will

    stare you down;

    row after row

    of asymmetric triplets,

    watching.

    I remember looking in,

    from afar.

    Thinking that the people there

    must echo the measured monochrome;

    tiny paper beings of

    ink, and soot.

    Or, if they didn’t,

    that it would be my task

    to turn to ash.

  • Colours

    The man, after all of it, 

    watched on. Colours shimmered 

    in the blue of his eyes, 

    free of that darkened hue.

    He grinned a giant’s grin, 

    felt calm, felt free. 

    He, at last, saw himself

    reflected in minds and in hearts,

    in the memories of that perfect crowd ;

    of laughter

    of coffee shops

    of flowers deep in bloom 

    and of those tiny little moments that scatter into life. 

     

    © All Rights Reserved. Nia Griffiths 2019.