The Word for Grief is Forest
This forest is grief. Tall and dense.
It will sink sharp thorns into your skin.
Its brambles will tug at your clothes and catch your hair.
And stinging nettles will slow you to a lurch.
And caked in mud, you will crawl through thick briars.
As scars you thought long healed
rip open.
This forest is grief. Lush and green.
It will wrap you warm in its tangled weeds.
Catching tears like dewdrops on thick branches and thistles.
And those tears will carve streams and ponds.
And the hurt will become beautiful.
And you will look back
to find a tended garden.