Babz, thank you. You are correct. There are two pieces to this poem.
I'm trying to present the emotions that we all go through when a personal, cataclysmic event hits us between the eyes. I may best be able to describe the jump in feelings and emotions and responses, by asking someone to imagine what it was like, for thousands of mothers in America, who had sons serving in the armed forces in Europe and the Pacific during the Second World War.
Each day of their lives at that time, those mothers worried about their sons. The mothers went through hours and days of anguish. And then, one morning, they get a knock on their front door! "Your son is dead" All of their previous feelings and emotions now belonged to a state of mind which they would never experience again. Those emotions had been terrible enough, but now, what hit them in their hearts was a beast of a completely different colour. Blacker, deeper, and all pervading.
The time-line of those mothers' lives had been snapped. Their view of their lives could never be tempered with the same grouping of feelings again. Hence, the change of the mind-set and the pace, of the poem's narrator, as he is hit in the heart. This is also why I've deliberately used 'mourning' instead of 'morning,' because what had gone before in the narrator's life, was now seemingly dead. Also, the 'site' of a tongue is not what we see, but the part within us which is struck by any harsh, lying, and deceitful words. Those words may not be immediately apparent to the recipient. They go off like a time-bomb when the truth becomes clear.
Those American mothers never stopped loving their sons and never would. It was a pure, unconditional love, which asked nothing in return. Their love caused their pain, but it was that same love which held them together. It held the mothers by way of support. It also held the mothers and their sons together even though death seperated them.
We must remember that mothers have been losing sons like this for thousands of years. I've used this analogy because it may assist in the reading of my piece.
Thank you for your kind and considered comments. Best regards. Byron.
"Bipolar is a roller-coaster ride without a seat belt. One day you're flying with the fireworks; for the next month you're being scraped off the trolley" I said that.