Grief is like...

Grief is like a moth in the cupboard,

Unseen bit still there.

Chewing through fabric and flutter in the night.

The holes start off so small,

Only to grown in size.

Until your favorite red jacket

Lacks color and warmth.

And nothing but taters remain.

You can fix up the holes,

With red thread and fabrics,

Or buy a brand new coat.

But the memory remains

Of the time the moths were in the cupboard.

Grief is like an ocean,

That has swallowed you whole.

That by the time you’ve opened your eyes,

You aren’t sure which way to go.

Up, down and all around,

There is just one big black hole.

And well they tell you to breathe,

Follow the bubbles, and take it slow.

Your brain sends you into a panic.

For we shall surely die from it all.

Since breathing shouldn’t hurt so much.

Grief is like a river,

Running seamlessly.

Some parts are shallow, and others very deep.

The current changes pace and pulls you here and there.

As you reach out and wonder where all the branches are.

And at times,

The ride is very peaceful, as you flow with the current.

And other times the current pulls you under.

Threating to never let you back up again.

And no matter what you do,

You have to remember to not fight the current.

Grief is an emptiness,

That exists in many forms.

Both natural and unnatural,

When it comes to our doors.

And well I made friends with the Grim Reaper long ago.

I find that it is the emptiness I truly fear….

When death comes to collect another,

And I must stay behind.