Grief is like the wings of birds.
Drifting with the wind.
No matter the weather.
It takes time and turns it into a current.
That flows neither backwards or forward.
And in a matter of moments days have passed.
And well I am told I am built for it,
It strips me raw and threatens to ruin
The wings that cannot possibly hold me.
And just when I think I may break,
Calmer weather shifts in.
And it feels like I am flying on.
Learn how to drift and glide,
Before the course of time,
Shifts once more.
And I am within the storm
Once more.
About the Creator
Lane Burns
I am a Poet and an inspiring short story, one day novel writer.
I like to write in free verse mostly, but am heavily inspired by Emily Dickenson, and tend to create my own rules and ideas as well.
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