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
