Maryline Roux

Grief is a companion

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Grief is a companion

On days like that, I wonder
how the last breath feels
—inside—

In this big orchestra, some call Life,
I wonder even more
if preludes, our days in between,
promise more substantial hours
—later—

Long frail fingers plays the notes
on one old piano’s keys,
a fugue,
where voices flee,
chasing each other in an intricate dance.

Grief is a companion.

It strips you from loved ones
in Death,
but sometimes also in Life

Darkness spills in the daylight,
no sorrows are the same
—ever—
and for those dispirited,
hatched too soon or too late,
for lack of heat

Know that . . .

Grief is a companion.

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