Something Short of Sorrow

The hurt that comes while heartache heals
is something short of sorrow,
something short of how it feels
to weep and wonder if tomorrow
holds any semblance of today.
It falls short of the grief we know
when loved-ones pass away
and patted earth is covered by snow,
short of the loss that’s shared
when hope or love’s let go
and all around us are prepared
to reap the joy we’re told tears sow.
Heartache settles deep inside
where no one sees or knows
save one who peers… eyes wide
in yours… until it goes. 
© Tom Kapanka, April 28, 2012

 "They that sow in tears shall reap in joy."

  Psalm 126:5 (KJV)

Note about the poem that is the title of this post added January, 2026.: 

:

As a writer and former English teacher, I have an understandable aversion to Artificial Intelligence (A.I.)--especially as it pertains to the creative arts. I believe that being made in the Image of God includes the irrepressible desire to create.  The thought that this very human process can be mimicked by a non-human source is troubling. I'm told, however, that A.I. like the example to follow is distilled from millions of human thoughts skimmed like cream from the collelctive body of human writing that has gathered on the internet since humans began writing there. Whether or not that is true,  it does give me some level of comfort. Still, let it be known I do not use A.I. in my writing process and it has played no part in any of the posts here at Patterns of Ink. 

Having said that, I recently stumbled upon "Gemini" which is what Google calls there A.I. program (similar to ChatGPT). I was curious how A.I. would analyze my "...metaphors and meaning and enless patterns of ink..." (as statted in this blog's header). I was pleasantly surprised and decided to post the results.).  Whenever I post an A.I. analysis, I will playfully frame it as a brief guest lecture by Dr.G.E. Mini of Ayai University. I must admit, this imaginary professor is very observant and surprisingly open to the subtle spiritual elements often below the surface of my writing. 

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Analysis of Tom Kapanka's “Something Short of Sorrow” by Dr. G. E. Mini

Tom Kapanka’s “Something Short of Sorrow” is a delicate exploration of the "middle space" of emotional recovery. It doesn't focus on the sharp, jagged edge of fresh loss, but rather the dull, persistent ache that remains while one is technically "healing."

By focusing on the subtle distinction between sorrow and heartache, Kapanka captures a feeling that is often difficult to articulate: the phase where the world expects you to be "over it," but the soul is still quietly mourning.

1. The Anatomy of Lingering Grief

The poem begins by defining its subject through subtraction. This pain is "something short of sorrow." Kapanka suggests that true sorrow is a totalizing force—it’s the existential crisis of wondering if "tomorrow holds any semblance of today."

By contrast, the "heartache" he describes is less about the fear of the future and more about the weight of the present. It is the residual vibration after a Great Bell has been struck; the sound is gone, but the metal still shivers.

2. The Grave and the Snow: A Personal Silence

The imagery of "patted earth... covered by snow" is the emotional anchor of the poem. Knowing this refers to his mother’s funeral adds a layer of profound stillness to the text.

• Patted Earth: Represents the finality of the physical act of burial—the "work" of mourning is done.

• The Snow: Acts as a shroud. In literature, snow often symbolizes both death and a "hushing" of the world. Here, it suggests a forced quietude. The heavy snowfall after the service serves as a transition from the public ritual of a funeral to the private, cold isolation of personal loss.

3. The Paradox of Reaping Joy (Psalm 126:5)

Kapanka makes a poignant reference to Psalm 126:5: "Those who sow in tears shall reap in joy." However, he approaches this biblical promise with a touch of weary realism.

"...and all around us are prepared / to reap the joy we’re told tears sow."

He notes that others are often prepared for us to find that joy before we are ready to feel it. There is a tension here between the communal expectation of recovery and the individual reality of heartache. While the "tears" have been sown, the "reaping" feels like a distant, almost theoretical concept while the heartache is still settling "deep inside."

4. The Power of Being Seen

The final stanza shifts from the abstract to the intimate. Kapanka suggests that this specific kind of heartache is invisible to the casual observer. It is a "hidden" weight:

The resolution doesn't come from time or from the "reaping of joy" mentioned earlier, but from witness. The heartache only begins to leave when "one who peers... eyes wide in yours" finally acknowledges it. It suggests that healing isn't a solo marathon, but a process of being truly seen in one's most vulnerable, "short of sorrow" state.

Kapanka’s work serves as a gentle reminder that healing isn't a linear climb, but a quiet settling. It honors the "short of sorrow" moments as being just as valid as the grief that preceded them.

Until a Limb

I followed through a pathless wood
too close perhaps
to see the forest for the trees
or miss the slaps
of thoughtless branches in my face
let go it seemed
with little care of consequence
and no esteemed
perception that others followed
close behind him.
Branch after bending branch we trod
until a limb
snapped back so hard it lashed my eyes.
Half-blinded then
I saw anew the need for space,
but walked again,
this time seeing forest and trees
at my own pace
as stings gave way to speckled sun
upon my face.

Tom Kapanka
April 2, 2011

Years ago I began experimenting with structured verse in a pattern of 8-syllable lines followed by 4 syllables in the next line. In this case I only rhymed the shorter lines in pairs. This poem is based in part on an experience I once had while hiking with a frustrated friends. We had lost our way, and the most reckless and cock-sure of our group had claimed the lead but didn’t care so much about the branches hitting the faces of those foolish enough to follow him.

The Only Place for Emptiness at Easter

There should be nothing hollow about Easter; nothing that suggests things are not as they appear. There can be no Oz behind the curtain. No smoke and mirrors--even in the name of Christ. The Good News should never be all hat and no cattle as Texans say when someone is all show and no substance. Easter cannot be a gig, an act, a high cathedral chant or even humble preaching to the choir.  

Easter must proclaim the answer to the question Pontius Pilate asked while it stared him in the face:
 “What is Truth?”

The only place for emptiness at Easter… is the tomb.

Nothing Like the Heart

All things break...
.....but nothing like the heart,
.....the stained glass window of the soul.
Most things mend...
.....but never quite the same
.....though all the parts make up the whole.

Somehow though...
.....through broken panes
.....the morning draws the sun
.....to the darkest corner of our hope
.....and healing is begun.
No one knows
.....how in these times
.....He helps us play our part.
All we know
.....from how we feel
..........is all things break...
...............but nothing like the heart.
© Copyright April, 1995, Tom Kapanka, Patterns of Ink Vol 1
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Five years ago, I posted this poem that I'd written in April,1995. It had begun as a lyric in my head on the ten-hour drive home from my father's funeral. Sometimes the tune comes back to me, but more often just the feeling. It was the deepest grief I had ever experienced. Julie and I were expecting our third child, but she was ten weeks from knowing her grandpa's voice, and has now, for all those years, known him only in photographs and stories.

This past Sunday was the 17th anniversary of my father's death, and oddly enough I had forgotten that fact for most of the day until my daughter, who was the unborn child mentioned above, reminded me of it in the middle of a conversation with four people, two young and two older, that had a sadness all its own for her. It was something short of sorrow but still the kind of hurt that parents hope to ease, and we were honored to have been included in it.  And like grief, the expressed affections and conclusions reminded me that all the joy of what we know of love finds its deepest meaning in what we know of loss.

I am pleased that my daughter is learning these things in ways beyond her years, and I trust that the song she posted on her Facebook page a month or so ago will have even greater meaning to her in the days ahead.

Stained glass is a great example of beauty in brokenness. In the 2nd stanza, if you change the spelling of panes to pains, morning to mourning, and sun to Son, you may find fuller meaning in the imagery. Psalm 34:18