melissaahowells
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Grief is a constant Task Master
It requires both constant attention and diversion, though diversion from It can not ever be completely successful nor fully satisfy. Grief is as determined as a Blood Hound. On rainy-damp days when all of It's signs should be washed away, It comes back. There's no getting cleaned Nor clear. Grief is unavoidable. It finds Its way back to sniff you out. Grief is no Gentleman nor Lady. It doesn't enter into agreements nor can you bargain with It. It doesn't offer you a handkerchief. Nor does It believe in hugs. Grief has your home number and soon enough IT will claim you as Its very own. Grief is near and gaining ground. It demands familiarity whether or not you desire a relationship. Grief has no manners. It insists and perseveres. It will not knock and often barges in. Neither sleep, nor drink nor drugs will appease It. There's only one solution You must face It down. Ask what It wants. Comply. Only when you've come to terms will Grief nod smile and move on. *************************************** LEGAL COPYRIGHT FOR THIS POEM 4:27pm PST OCTOBER 4, 2021 TIME AND DATE STAMPED AND ALSO FOR THIS WRITER MELISSA A. HOWELLS AND ALSO FOR THIS LEGALLY COPYRIGHTED AND REGISTERED SITE TITLE:MELOO STRAIGHT FROM HER TILT-A-WORLD Vote for this poem |
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