The Wound and the War

Grief is the hush after love has left,

a sacred ache that honors death.

It comes in waves, both soft and wide,

a tide that knows it must subside.

 

It holds the echo, not the blame,

it carves the soul, but speaks no shame.

Grief is love with nowhere to go,

a hollow song, still full and slow.

 

But suffering! Suffering is the fight,

the clench of fists against the night.

It is the war we wage within,

against the truth, against the skin.

 

It feeds on “should,” on fear, on pride,

a shadow that won’t step aside.

It grows where grief is forced to hide

a thorn where tears are yet to slide.

 

Grief is the wound that wants to heal.

Suffering’s the chain we think is real.

One asks us gently just to feel

The other… asks us not to kneel.

 

But when we kneel, when we let go,

when we let sorrow freely flow,

grief becomes a healing stream

and suffering dissolves… like dream.