Occasionally, I feel compelled
and this is the result.
Grief is...a poem
Grief is a fire burning from within,
sometimes gently simmering below my shell,
sometimes boiling over splashing pain,
smoke signaling a soul charred.
Grief is a ravine, steep and treacherous,
sometimes my fingernails cling to its unsteady sides,
sometimes I skin-slide down to the dark deep,
broken, panting, ripped, defeated.
Grief is the tide sweeping me out to the deep,
sometimes my chin hovers above death lapping,
sometimes my arms beat frothing in despair,
as the ocean’s thumb presses my imprint on the shore.
Grief is the great gale forcing me aside,
sometimes I standing rooted like earth’s veins,
sometimes my knuckles ivory-clenched,
desperately take grip on souls stronger.
Grief is the relentless rain pummeling below,
sometimes I stand chilled to the brittle bone,
sometimes I dodge droplets of despair,
dashing undercover to my cave’s murky depths.
Grief is a hike in the wilderness without compass,
sometimes blindfolded I trek due north,
sometimes I stumble directionless in ebony thick,
with only a starless sky for company.
Grief is the song my soul sings on repeat,
sometimes my voice raises to Heaven’s sky,
sometimes my body moves to the miserable melody,
a rhythm and routine with a memory of it’s own.
Grief is my core, my centre, my state of being,
sometimes my time, my home, my destination,
sometimes my dreams, my dawn, my midday sun,
my son forever woven into my tapestry soul.