Grief: A Weaver

What is Grief but Death’s tailor?

Grief is a weaver.

Each garment made to suit,

Buttons attached for each year,

Altered hems,

Seams made strong by

Threads of time,

Pockets lined with truth.

Grief is Death’s weaver,

Taking each thread of any color

In and out;

Back and forth.

Rage-red borders blended

Into blues, golds, lilacs,

Pastel colors,

Interspersed with blackness of soul.

Grief makes a fine coat of silken memories

So soft to the touch,

How surprising.

This linen could be a friend

Worn to ragged shreds,

Worn to the bone as

Death is a companion

With us since birth,

There is no void, only Death,

Swaddling us always, yet

Taking us little by little.

For this we grieve.

One day a babe greeting

From the womb with tears,

The next, tears for our passing.

For Death, we are dressed in Grief,

Woven memories of

Laughter and sorrow;

Joy and despair;

Guilt woven into forgiveness;

Grief into love.

Why do we fear, for

We are comforted by this lavish coat

Through all time.

Grief is Death’s tailor

Hired at birth

To weave our lives,

Worn to tatters with threads

Left to line our souls.




Copyright © 2017 Barbara Harris Leonhard


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