Grief

A candle is blown out by the breath of an almighty,

those illuminated by its light are plunged into darkness.

 

Wax hardens and grows cold,

like the heart,

of a grieving soul.

No sorrow too deep, no pain too bold.

 

Grief consumes the growth of a lover,

Stunted to an emotional impasse,

like a candle-  never relighted.

 

The grief comes when it does, in waves and herds.

No hand in when it is remembered,

and when it forgets-

to hurt.

 

playing Russian roulette- we cry.

Powerless over who lives; who dies.

 

*an old poem of mine that I brushed up*

In loving memory of Zahid Chacho. Rest in Power.

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