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THE WEIGHT OF GRIEF
<p><span style="background-color: transparent;">That pain of sitting at the front pew to mourn a loved one who had died,</span><br/></p><p>Where black wasn't just a color, </p><p>and behind dark coloured glasses, </p><p>tears pour<span style="background-color: transparent;"> as realization hits that we will no longer hear their voice or feel their touch.</span></p><p><br/></p><p>We struggled through the firsts without them - first Christmas, first new year,</p><p>First birthday</p><p>and first everything</p><p>with tears and sorrow that wouldn't clear.</p><p><br/></p><p>We'll never forget the trouble, </p><p>the utter lostness, the taste of ashes, the poison we've swallowed. </p><p>We remember it all.</p><p>oh, how well we remember— the feeling of hitting the bottom. </p><p><br/></p><p>But amid the emptiness, </p><p>hope held such space.</p><p>And even when we do not want to give hope space again,</p><p>we see it... persisting and insisting...and emerging even still. </p><p><br/></p><p>So like a treasure chest, </p><p>we choose to cherish each memory, </p><p>holding onto the precious moments we shared</p><p><br/></p><p>And though the weight of grief still presses down, </p><p>we rise, </p><p>for we're made of storms and fire.</p><p><br/></p><p>© Goke's pen</p><p>~TheHealingPoet🤍</p>
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