Whispers of the Unsaid

On grief & letting go.

Grief tiptoes in, a shadow at dawn,
Wearing the scent of what is gone.
Its voice, a soft and mournful hum,
Echoes of yesterdays that will not come.

It plants roots deep in the marrow,
In a heart once full, now hollow.
Time, the gardener, trims the pain,
But scars bloom where love has lain.

Letting go is not release,
It’s a dance with the ghost of peace.
A hand unclenched, an untied knot,
A whisper to say, “You’re not forgot.”

The wind carries fragments away,
Ashes of sorrow, scattered gray.
In their place, a fragile light,
A dawn reborn from the longest night.

For grief is love with nowhere to go,
A river that bends, but never flows.
To let it be, to let it stay,
Is to carry both the loss and day.