Pieces of Grief

     

Grief can be a tidal wave; a merciless, inescapable force. 

It lays waste to everything in its path and leaves you standing amongst the wreckage, unable to uproot yourself. 
Overwhelming, overtaking, consuming; crashing down before you can move.
The betraying water builds around your ankles and washes you back to where you never thought you’d be standing. 

 Grief can be a trickling stream; a drifting, silent miasma that fills your lungs and stops your breath.
It cuts a jagged path through every rock of your fortress and leaves you vulnerable, unable to protect yourself. 
Ongoing, oppressing, insisting; a pervasive fog that envelops you.
The reeking slime pools around the soles of your feet and holds you where you never thought you’d be standing. 
  
Grief can be a coming storm; rolling in on your horizon, announcing its imminence. 
It seethes with your energy while leaving you so empty, unable to weather its rains. 
Thickening, threatening, looming; dark clouds that gather and build.
The drowning thunder rattles your soul and carries you back to where you never thought you’d be standing. 
  
Grief can be a steady wind; sweeping out of the North and stripping away all comfort. 
It steals away your warmth while leaving you so empty, unable to weather its force. 
Cold, calculating, relentless; a faceless, sightless truth.
The howling drone rings in your ears and blows you back to where you never thought you’d be standing. 
  
Grief can be an open wound; a painful, fractured soul. 
It holds you hostage and keeps you so broken, unable to beat as before.
Blind, bleeding, crippled; too weak to staunch the flow.
The pounding gait pulses in your head and pushes you back to where you never thought you’d be standing. 
  
Grief can be an ancient staircase; an old and well-worn path. 
 It leads you down its familiar length to doors closed tight with rusty locks, unable to guild you beyond them. 
Creaking, cracking, lingering; beauty and pain combined.
The sweet and stinging memories ache in your chest and send you back to where you never thought you’d be standing. 
  
 Grief will always be the side of a cliff; the slow ascension to an unknown summit. 
It stares you down with uncaring eyes and no steadying hand extended, unable to help lift you any higher. 
Insurmountable, inescapable, indescribable; sleepless, sharp and scarred. 
The impossible climb is the only thing that can take you away from where you never should have had to be. 

“I am colorblind

Coffee black and egg white

Pull me out from inside

I am ready… I am ready… I am ready…

I am taffy-stuck and tongue-tied

Stutter-shook and uptight

Pull me out from inside

I am ready… I am ready… I am ready… 

I am fine.

I am covered in skin

No one gets to come in

Pull me out from inside

I am folded and unfolded and unfolding…

I am colorblind.” 

                                  

                                                                          -Counting Crows, ‘Colorblind’

2 thoughts on “Pieces of Grief

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s