Never have I been told
There is more than one type of grief.
You grieve the dead.
That's what I believed.
Yet now I've begun to realize,
I mourn more than the dead.
And this grief is different
Than the one I already possessed.
This grief is alive
Like those I mourn.
It aches and burns
With bitter scorn.
My grief for the dead
Is gentle and warm.
A steady ache
Assuaged by love.
It is not this stinging thorn.
This bite of betrayal and hurt.
This noose of friendly lies
Ever tighter growing.
It is not this guilt.
"Have I done something wrong?"
It is not silence,
Where once there was song.
It is not blame.
"You knew this would happen."
"What else did you expect?"
I thought better of them.
That is all there is to say.
I thought better of them.
Better than they deserved.
Better than they are.
I still do.
And that is why I grieve.
Deep down, I'm hoping
They will come through.
And yet, I know
That is too good to be true.
They are different people
Than the ones I thought I knew.
YOU ARE READING
A Collection of Poems
PoetryHello! This book is filled with my poems! I used to have them mixed with my short stories, but for organizations sake, I decided to split them into their own books. Enjoy! This is updated spontaneously, so don't expect regular posts.
