Slumberlike, bitter sweet
as a crisp packet in mourning
as it rests on dewy grass.
Alas
She is no more.
The tumbleweed rolls by,
as the dust settles,
my tears draw rivlets
down my cheeks.
Morning has broken
and grief has split my heart
in two
laughter resides in one half
I shut the door on it
and wallow in the other
where I welcome the mud of death becoming.
And shun life.
I am sodden from my own depths
of racked ribs
and bleeding memories
I am cracked
and opened
naked and exposed for all to see
and care I not a jot.
Grief is like that.
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