They keep telling me that the sun
will come up tomorrow,
Armageddon has not written the
last chapter of my life.
The insistent fog that that is made up
of rambling sorrow
prayer and self belief will cut through
with heaven’s knife.
Wallowing in bereavement stalls the
progress of each morning,
hiding the rising sun behind clouds
and silencing the bird.
Disrobe from the debilitating distress
of continuous mourning.
Such are the words of encouragement
this aching poet has heard.
Devastation of familial loss is insistent
and viscously remained
in the tearful heart of a father, left
behind to try to carry on.
Allowing the spirit of a loved one to rise
is labored and pained
but the act is ultimately necessary to
properly honor a fallen son.
Submitted for the Grief but no Grief challenge
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