My favorite poet was Aeschylus. He wrote: "In our sleep, pain which cannot forget falls drop by drop upon the heart until, in our own despair, against our will, comes wisdom through the awful grace of God."
Robert F Kennedy April 4 1968
Indianapolis Indiana
https://www.jfklibrary.org/learn/about-jfk/the-kennedy-family/robert-f-kennedy/robert-f-kennedy-speeches/statement-on-assassination-of-martin-luther-king-jr-indianapolis-indiana-april-4-1968
This then, the morning after.
the battle, here in her home.
Sorrow filled her heart.
That her chosen one.
The son of the morning,
Would do this.
Full of so much promise.
His, and their light,
would diminish now.
Now it begins,
the choice, the real choice.
She had loved them all.
But now her heart breaks.
One third gone,
unredeemable, of his choice.
She wished she could have kept them,
here, cradled them, in her bosom.
She had loved them,
from, Eternity.
Now comes their choice,
real choice.
Michael would become, Adam.
The first man, in the new formed world.
But this loss,
the first loss,
of many to come.
It may be the greatest.
This then breaks her heart.
The son of the mourning.
