On Grieving

 

Winter is cold and harsh

Darkness creeps

A slow invasion

minute by minute

until no light

no hope

no warmth remains.

Icy winds buffet and crash

like a thousand crystal daggers

The air is heavy

A frigid burden

On desperate lungs.

Breathing becomes laboured

So vital

And yet

So painful

Against warm delicate

Flesh that seeks water and

warmth

But finds only bitter cold

And a dry brittle

longing

For something that already

In the passage of a few short weeks

Seems like a dream of

light

and sunshine

In a place that never was

And never will be again. Read More