Grief is the story that knocks our door
even before death's perhaps untimely call.
It fills the space with tears we dread,
or those of which we cannot shed,
with silenced words we yearn to spread,
and lingering feelings left unsaid.
It tells the tale of love gone lost,
of hearts so longed yet never felt,
Of those now passed, and those estranged
and lingering pain that hides and pelts.
Of sacred lines and worn out friends,
and Mother Earth that calls to mend.
Of those who loved, stood by and cheered,
and dreamed embraces yet to dare.
To close the door and leave behind
to gather losses and toss them blind
to the endless sea of deepest depths—
oh so much colder would I be,
and transformed—to less degree.
So through open heart I must travel—
to wounds that bleed, yet must be followed.
And grieve I must to grow and show—
how well I love—and live the life I dare to hold.
To lead with yes and swallow whole,
its long, uncertain, yet
sweet caress.
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