Grief is but one color
And Pays no attention to race
Speaks one language
Caring nothing for dialects too numerous to count
Marks clear territories on fragile hearts
Leaves a trail familiar to mourners
Scoffs at feeble attempts by high society to drown its sound
Squashes all efforts to hinder its hard work
Vanquishes all avenues that expose it's ways
Shackling the strongest of our lot
Spewing casualties along its tracks.
An external visitor
Persistent and ever so relentless
On broken hearts, it feasts
Quenching thirst on streams of tears
With Stolen dreams, it fattens it's purse
Shamelessly Dimming smiles along its path
Keeping the joy that once belonged to us
Chanting dirges in place of melodies
Ever Bountiful with sorrowful gifts
Claims to cause no calamity
But only a candid collector from the valley of skulls
Seeks shelter in the crevices of fractured hearts
Capturing its light when darkness falls
Prowls cities searching for the silenced
Whose loved ones remain in ashes and dust
Surviving but with limping hearts
Struggling on
Though Dreading empty days to come
Shuddering at the notion
Of forever seeing the sun rise the wrong way
But grief glories in the agony of the soul
Disguised beneath wet scars
Wounds denied a chance to ever heal
Riding high waves of ancient rivers
In which many drowned
But those that remain are many too
Centuries stood no chance against our kind
Running, marching, limping, crawling
We soldier onward
And Against the lot of us
Grief stands no chance
