Grief

Grief, they say,
is an ocean;
deep and dark and expansive
with briny tears.
But I know
that grief means missing
a defining aspect of
the self
that can never return,
no matter how many rains
are sent with prayers.
Grief is an ocean
without water,
beyond tears—
it is a gigantic hole in the ground,
lifeless, dry, useless with
gritty, fossil-strewn sands.
Grief is a desert
where an ocean once danced with waves
to carry us forward
across the dark chasms
of life.
Now what is left to us
but the stark, scorching gaze
of the sun
as we wither beneath its overbearing truth
and add our skeletons
to this blanched, blinding,
endless
shoreline?

2 thoughts on “Grief

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