A Study in Grief
Isn’t it a funny little thing?
Or maybe not so little at all
Intangible yet it feels almost
as if I could touch it, like I could
take it into my hands and try and
try to crush it into nothingness
But I fail.
There are raw screaming throats and soft sobs
There is a din and a quiet both
A silent demon, bringing out the
primal, an animal rising to
the surface.
It’s the feeling of being eaten
Slowly gnawed until I am nothing
but an empty shell
It is also a feeling of exploding
So filled up by these strange emotions that
all I can do is shatter.
Yes, there are ebbs and flows, in this clumsy, silken river
Eventually, there is healing, pain subsiding
And there is building,
bridges and skyscrapers form over this void
The forest regrows after the fire
As will I
As will you