Tender Aftermath; a poem

It is no longer a crushing weight,

grief walks with those who walk alone,

timeless and fragile, it lives in our shadow,

teaching the art of letting go.

Fragments no longer find their form,

glass shards cannot be stitched whole,

but in their new arrangement, there is beauty

in a life that’s learned to soften its hold.

In this world, no one is spared the weight,

all bare battles, quiet or loud,

sorrow, inevitable, arrives and departs,

there’s peace in surrender, head bowed.

Grief is not a prison, nor a chain,

it is a passage, a rite, a necessary flame,

and when it burns through, the heart remains-

not as ashes, but richer to have lived in its name.

Grace visits us in the places we break,

in every trial, the soul, it shakes,

and in the tender aftermath of loss,

new seeds bloom, the sun, it wakes.