From 3d95ba374589af4e631214fa3566671fcacc26fe Mon Sep 17 00:00:00 2001
From: Madison Rye Progress <makyo@drab-makyo.com>
Date: Thu, 12 Dec 2024 00:58:20 -0800
Subject: [PATCH] Two poems

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 .../to---in-the-days-after-her-death.md       | 40 +++++++++++++++++++
 content/post/poetry/to-dwale.md               | 32 +++++++++++++++
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diff --git a/content/post/poetry/to---in-the-days-after-her-death.md b/content/post/poetry/to---in-the-days-after-her-death.md
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+---
+type: post
+date: 2024-11-24
+title: To — in the days after her death
+author: Madison Rye Progress
+categories:
+- Poem
+tags:
+- Death
+- Grief
+cw: Reference to suicide
+---
+
+## ██ — 2306
+
+<div class="verse">
+A dream within a dream within a dream
+and fell visions sidling up too close
+both woo me. Sweet caramel and soft cream
+sit cloying on their tongues, and I, Atropos
+to such dreams as these, find shears on golden thread.
+
+I would not cut, nor even could, had I but wished
+to sever this golden thread — and every thread
+is golden — and end a friend and send to mist
+and sorrow ones so dear. Dead! Dead! She is dead
+and gone, for her own shears were sharper still.
+
+And so she cut, and so they watched, and so I watched
+such love as this cease. I yearn to say that she returned
+to me, became a part of me, but a tally notched
+among the lost was all that stayed when life was spurned
+by the call of death — supposedly ended.
+
+So, she is gone and now our lives are darker for it,
+and now this world is where the shadows lie,
+and all the light that still remains is forfeit,
+and so much green still stabs towards the sky,
+and yellowed teeth of lions still snap at the air.
+</div>
diff --git a/content/post/poetry/to-dwale.md b/content/post/poetry/to-dwale.md
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+---
+type: post
+date: 2022-05-31
+title: To Dwale
+categories:
+- Poem
+tags:
+- Death
+- Grief
+---
+
+<div class="verse">
+Beneath that evening’s breeze the sickly sweet  
+and brazen scent of countless flowrs  
+awoke inside of you a darkened sleep  
+Of dreams dug deeper than the soil.  
+Oh, we are waking minds who missed that scent!  
+What hope have we who wait in life,  
+who sit and pray and watch for your next breath?  
+Our hope can only reach for ends —  
+To wit, to see you wake and meet a mind  
+Too keen to weed a garden clean —  
+For we exhaled when you breathed in that breeze  
+and flowers wreathe your sleeping form.
+
+Now I have told the bees about your death.
+And wept upon the stoop of their fine house.
+I’ve watered grass with wand’ring stories of
+Your joys and miseries. They spilled from home;
+They stood me right and made me eat your name 
+Then bade me lift my eyes to stars of you.
+</div>