If grief weren’t a sin

Reserved for the old

A tale would be told

One I hold deep within

*

I grief weren’t a sin

When felt by the young

I could tell you the story

Of those whom I loved

*

If grief weren’t a sin

I would cry over mountains

Over clouds and horizons

I would scream their names

*

I would whisper their syllables

Ever so softly, gently,

Watching the words soar

With the breeze.

*

If grief weren’t a sin,

I would describe the aching,

The sick gnawing

That grows like a seed.

*

I would admit that fire,

Like poison,

Races through my veins

Scalding, burning,

Destroying as it passes.

*

If grief weren’t a sin,

I would stop shaking with fright,

Anticipating the next arrival

Of the grief that alights

My body with pain.

*

This poison inside, this

Pulsing,

Aching,

Heaving,

Stretching,

Will…