A Slow Realisation

A slow realisation of who one was of who one is.

Grief starts with a realisation of the small follies long ago.

Of pain still hiding behind bursting doors,

Being held together on will soundly

A Slight crack and grief seeps through

Disguising itself as darkness, laughing mocking endlessly.

' Ha look you fool,

You did it again, you made an ass of yourself.'

Grief cloaks itself. 

Dare I say loss makes grief look pretty?

Dare I say loss makes grief look sinew,

The loss of an unborn, the loss of a dear one.

The loss of what could be, the loss of what should be.

The loss of time- past, present, future 

Stuck in time, stuck standstill, never moving, never roaming,

Contemplation of incorruptibility.

Lack of childhood if you must.

Unmoving freedom, a kite stuck in a wire.

It cries 'I walk soulless'

A monkey's burnt hand, unable to roam wild

A primate but only half a being.

Grief makes one alone

It stops moving one.

It stops shaking one.

You scatter like abstraction

Endless sharp edges strewn about,

Grief takes a hold, making one numb

A dizzying sensation taking hold.

A tug back to reality, Grounding.

Grief like a balloon floats the human away.

Untethering, floating, ungrounding

A feeling lost in, a growing with it.

But not of it, wanting to heal, so I write.

Grief a part of me, still me, yet not.