Day 10. The beginning of grief
Grief is in a bottle
Fizzing up
Building, rising
Threatening overload.
Numbness.
Sat at the traffic light,
All I hear is my indicator.
Turn right.
The change from red,
To amber,
To green,
To amber,
Seeing red.
Zoning in, zoning out.
Outside myself with overwhelm
Back again with the click of a finger,
The grief evaporated
Now in the room
Inside my head,
Hide the tears in the shed,
At the bottom of the garden,
Padlocked in so they don't escape,
Anticipating a plethora of wakes.
Waking up to realise
This is the start
The beginning of the end.
Months before we contemplate mend.
While the numbers mount
More than anyone can count
We don't know what's true
They'd tell us the sky isn't blue,
If it got their pals a back hander,
Neglecting us all, got mates to pander
Make sure we fill their pockets,
Press drawn in - crony puppets.
This is the start.
The beginning of the end.
Who's going to be left standing
At the other side of the bend?
Grief is in a bottle
Fizzing up
Building, rising
Threatening overload.
Numbness.
Sat at the traffic light,
All I hear is my indicator.
Turn right.
The change from red,
To amber,
To green,
To amber,
Seeing red.
Zoning in, zoning out.
Outside myself with overwhelm
Back again with the click of a finger,
The grief evaporated
Now in the room
Inside my head,
Hide the tears in the shed,
At the bottom of the garden,
Padlocked in so they don't escape,
Anticipating a plethora of wakes.
Waking up to realise
This is the start
The beginning of the end.
Months before we contemplate mend.
While the numbers mount
More than anyone can count
We don't know what's true
They'd tell us the sky isn't blue,
If it got their pals a back hander,
Neglecting us all, got mates to pander
Make sure we fill their pockets,
Press drawn in - crony puppets.
This is the start.
The beginning of the end.
Who's going to be left standing
At the other side of the bend?