Grief is a tailor.
Each garment made to suit,
buttons attached each year,
hems altered,
seams made strong by
threads of time,
pockets lined with truth.
Grief takes threads of every color
in and out.
Rage-red borders blend
flecks of gold.
It makes a fine coat
so soft to the touch.
How surprising.
This linen is a close friend
worn to ragged shreds,
worn to the bone.
Death is a companion
with us since birth.
There is no void, only Death,
swaddling us, yet
taking us little by little.
For this we grieve.
One day a babe greeting us
from the womb with tears,
and later, sharing tears for our passing.
We are dressed in Grief,
tailored memories of
laughter and sorrow;
joy and despair;
guilt woven into forgiveness;
grief into love.
Why do we fear?
We are comforted by this lavish coat.
Grief is a tailor
hired at birth
to clothe our lives,
worn to tatters with threads
left to line our souls.
(This poem is a revision of Grief: A Weaver, which I published on WordPress in June 2017.)
©Barbara Harris Leonhard, extraordinarysunshineweaver.blog
Image: Pixabay.com
A beautiful post Barbara,thank you ❤️
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Thank you so much!
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So heartfully expressed.
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Thank you, Savvy!
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