There is a certain sort of lonely

There is a certain sort of lonely –
of the quiet house
with the sleeping child
the silent child
the sick child.
The lonely of “if only”….

There is a certain sort of noise –
of unspoken questions
with angry looks
hurt upon hurt
pain clutched tight.
The noise of hearts breaking.

There is a certain sort of grief –
of uncertain days,
with hope ignored
help scorned
hostility offered.
The grief of rejection.

There is a certain sort of ache
that persists through pain
insists on patience
resists despair.
Heart-aching love,
that must
hope.

Jennifer Irving
Dancing Wombat
1 August 2017

(Image: Charles Blackman)