My griefs only visit at night,
it embraces me when the entire world is silent;
for it knows I learned to hide behind noise.
And at noon, when the world is too busy
to care about a lonely soul;
for every human is hungry for more.
And in the evening, with the setting sun
it crawls over me like a critter;
wrapping my pharynx like a vigorous vine.
And in the morning like a newly bloomed flower,
a wildflower,
that stands against the harshest wind.
My grief is amaranth,
a mythical flower that never fades.
My grief is astravore,
it feeds and feeds and keeps on feeding,
from my withered, shriveled soul.
My grief is imortal,
for it shall remain with me, even in death.
Jan 25
Jan 25, 2026 at 8:21 AM UTC
My griefs only visit at night,
it embraces me when the entire world is silent;
for it knows I learned to hide behind noise.
And at noon, when the world is too busy
to care about a lonely soul;
for every human is hungry for more.
And in the evening, with the setting sun
it crawls over me like a critter;
wrapping my pharynx like a vigorous vine.
And in the morning like a newly bloomed flower,
a wildflower,
that stands against the harshest wind.
My grief is amaranth,
a mythical flower that never fades.
My grief is astravore,
it feeds and feeds and keeps on feeding,
from my withered, shriveled soul.
My grief is imortal,
for it shall remain with me, even in death.
Why do we refuse to own our grief like a treasure?
