Grief is pain.
Alternating waves of
raw, naked heart strings and
numb shock, eyes
glazed under a
sea of tears.

Every nerve ending
screams,
denying the loss.
Denying.
Denying.
Denying.

With clenched fists,
Grief repeats its own
mantra – No, no, no, it
can’t be true – skipping on the
jagged edge of anguish.

Feeling grief, it’s absorbed into the
bones, the flesh, the
heart, the soul.
Grief never really leaves.
It becomes a part of the
one left behind, building a
new synapse connection in the
mind, always present until

Until the one left
behind is the one
being grieved.

© Hilary Clark ~ February 26, 2020

My poems are inspired by my art.  See the piece that inspired this poem here.