|
My grief comes in waves
Sometimes big
Sometimes small
Sometimes I don't notice it at all
Except as white noise
That won't let me sleep.
My grief changes with tides.
It swells...
It ebbs...
Reveals
Treasure in the shoals
Little bits of wisdom
I hurriedly gather before
Waves flood again
Washing away my progress
Yet leaving more treasures to find
With the next ebb.
Painters portray grief
In translucent colors
So museum go-ers
See serene seascapes
But whoever's battled waves
Sees through them
To what lies beneath.
The silent undertow
That can claim more lives
Some seek escape
Staying in the pull
But most will learn
To swim aside
Across the flow
Still within the waves
But not swept away
Out of sight
Into the sea.
Running counter
To what one might think
One emerges
With insight
Observing the only way
To not succumb
Under waves of grief.
| 
