by Alissa Graham
Maybe the icicles on my eyes
from the arctic wind that makes me cry
Will plummet into my heart
And break the walls, the chains, apart
If my house was one built of cards
the sooner knocked down the better
and only suffering can do it,
the wrecking ball swings with ease
Grief is like a long valley
A winding road revealing new landscapes.
Maybe loneliness will be invaded
By the joy that’s been on hiatus
Oh lord, I can only pray.
"A corpse, a memory, a ghost.
All mockeries and horrors," CS Lewis said
these three words are simply
three more ways of spelling the word
“dead.”
(excerpts taken from A Grief Observed by CS Lewis)
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