The Wandering Nature of Grief

Those days
when grief wanders in
like the tendrils of fog
in the river valley
slowly engulfing
my heart and mind
taking my breath away
tightening my chest
leaving me aching
with its wandering
The sun shining
does nothing
to chase the fog away
it persists
holds on
I must bow down
to the altar
of loss
and remember
those
who have gone before me
slipping off into the heavens
only to return
in wispy memories
Today, here they are
as clearly
as though they'd never left
hanging around
sharing their love
through the mists
of a fall morning

Poetry
Grief, Death and Dying

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