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Grief, a poem


Is wearied eyes,

Disappointment and disguise,

And chicken noodle soup,

Friends keeping me in the loop,

Holding me together so I look whole,

Feeling more like a leaky bowl,

Where the broth drips unto the pages of fresh ink prayers,

And I begin to like to forget all my cares,

That numbness and tired mornings,

Great is every task I am performing,

And heavy shoulders try and then give up,

Grief is dark and scary and this dreadful cup,

The road to Jerusalem,

The road to Nineveh,

Depending on the day,

I run the other way,

The taproot of bitterness digs in,

Until the Lord makes die my sin,

I grumble looking over to everyone else,

All the apparent ease, health, and wealth,

“Why did you set this race before me?”

“So you would talk to me like this, honest and free.”

“Why is it so hard? Do you call this a plan?”

“Because sin and discipline. I love you. I understand.”

“I just thought it might be nice to have a break.”

“I know, dear one, come to me, it’s never too late.”

“It feels like dying to face my helpless estate.”

“Yes, but only the feeling for I made very sure of that,

Repent and believe and your estate will be great,

For the joy set before me to prepare you a place,

I paid the price, and it is all grace.”

So I feel the feelings of grief,

And finally look to the face of my true Relief,

“I’d do it again, my beautiful one,

For you to know grief will be undone,

For you, to be with you, so fair and true,

For you to know me and to be truly you,

I am love, and I love you.”

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