As I sit and sip on your merciful shore,
You remind me once again that like the tide, the rhythm of life is true.
That ebb follows after flow,
That once the tide has hit the rise, it turns.
I feel within the waters of my soul the stirring of the silt of sorrow.
Though I like her not, I do not fear her.
She has been like kin.
Sorrow is a sister to me.
Sit with me Sister Sorrow, here on the shore,
Tell me the way of the weary; the worried; the worn.
Play for me the melody of melancholy;
Sing the song that stirs within your soul.
Turn to me Sister Sorrow, let not your face be hid.
Open thy mouth, my ears will hear.
What’s more, my soul will stay with you, here upon the shore.
Let us name the minnows of misery that swim in shallow schools.
Speak to me of the pain that sits in deeper pools.
Speak to me of the swells, Sister Sorrow.
Tell me of the trauma troughs.
Whisper of the waves that crest heavy upon the coast.
Speak to me of the savage shipwreck; the things that hurt the most.
Sit with me awhile, Sister Sorrow,
Speak to me of the deep.
I will listen of late and of long,
Whilst the silt of sorrow flits about our feet.
The tide will turn again Sister Sorrow,
and when next we meet,
More of the shore will be apparent,
Under our surer feet.