Grief

Grief.

It's sometimes the tiniest lick of a flame
or firecrackers under your feet
Sometimes its all consuming, overwhelming.

It will pass. And there will be days where its the ghost in the attic

Like grief, happiness will take many forms
sometimes it'll be the guest in the spare room
other times it'll burst through you, then transform to deepest sorrow

You'll caress it, not close hold its embrace
but near enough to feel its warmth radiate
the jagged edges of your souls open wounds away

And you'll forever walk the tightrope
somewhere between pleasure and pain
hand in hand, with grief at your side