Phases

The armour of grief
Shields hearts from overburden;
But, donned for too long,
Becomes what he sought to thwart:
Deprivation of belov’d.

Three olives, dirty,
Vermouth merely opened near:
Just how she liked it.
Absence won’t prevent our toast –
The soil delivers her drink.

Darkness once scared me
Based on what I couldn’t see.
Yet now I’m seeking
What nothingness slowly takes;
Death’s embrace: treasures regained.