-Grief needs a home.
Grief looks better on me than joy.
My three piece suit,
of guilt, memory and emptiness,
is so designer,
now that pain is such a sellable commodity.
Watch them run to me,
watch them flock to me,
all after a bit of my fabric.
This exotic blend,
of Mediterranean un-mend,
drapes over my skin,
silken and poetic,
and in my misery,
they find me so attractive.
I miss you dad,
and all that people do,
is realise how they missed me all this time.
Suddenly awoken,
that this heart has spoken,
from the day it was born,
attached by gene and blood,
to you in prose and rhyme.
We’re not the type to be seen,
or heard until we’re gone,
I’ll make it so it’s different,
with words, build you a shrine.
W.E.
lonerloaner 