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The Mystery of Grief

Writer's picture: Theresa BaxterTheresa Baxter


Grief it ebbs, like wind it flows

Or moontide waves, it ever grows

You feel much better, think it quick

Then sorrow hits and makes you sick

You feel so guilty, as if weak

You should move on, no more to speak

Around you life it has no time

There is no reason for this rhyme

You think it hard? These hurts we face?

There’s much that comes to take its place

We must buck up and show some strength

You don’t need rope of any length

To pull you through this passing fracture

We must go on, it’s only natural…

But I’ll not listen, hands on ears

I’ll shed as many salty tears

Go over visions in my head

That keeps the beast of woe well fed

And only when that wick has burned

When simple joys to life return

Will I concede that, yes, it’s true

Though it’s the hardest thing to do

To overcome, to fill that space

Admit that love may be replaced

But from the pain? I shan’t be free

For that’s the catch of memory…

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