Grief

 

When grief was young it ran away

from sleeps dastardly attack

and sought the shade in daylight hours

to avoid being burnt alive. 

Older now it burrows in

deep, deep, down beneath the skin

happy to recline at ease

in its comfort zone.

 

But it jumps like a jitter bug

and thrashes side to side

when the slightest memory

spurs it into action.

 

And the thrashing like a devil thing

that hurts and hurts some more

until the tears fall silently

like the encroach of night.

 

There is no way to catch the grief

and enforce better behaviour

and I don’t know what to do

to stop it hurting, hurting!