Saturday, February 28, 2015

Good Grief

"It's the times when nothing could grow
That everything did."*

Good grief
Never begins
Better than the grief-free days
Preceding it

Like a shrouded lake mist
In Autumn
It encircles one swiftly  
From every side

Obscuring clear vistas
Blue skies
Touching every part of you
Making you wonder what good could this do?

Good grief

Begins badly

Like the scratch on one's window
In winter
 icicled branches
Of fear, doubt, and pain
Sans the dreamscape
That had once embraced sleepers and comforted them

Good grief
Feels like the rivers
That bad grief brings, too,
One's eyes hold on riven tears, broken, 
Once dammed
For one's heart strings
Have been severed
For new points of view

good grief
gets still better
Its beginning is worse;
Its ending, sublime

Not for what is lost
But what is gained beyond the losing.

It's the handwriting you see on the wall
And forgive.


And that is the reason
Good grief is His gift.


It's the crocus's very first sprout out
of ice, through the snow, into air

That's faith rising

It's the snow melt after winter
When you find that you can sing again.

It's knowing when all seemed so dark, so endless
You were never alone nor forgotten 

It's His strength and courage found deep down
inside you
When you knew you'd outspent all your you.

Good grief,

All this


Once redeemed


It is well.

Copyright 2015 Angela M. Byrd

*Joan Bauer, Keynote, NCTE/ALAN Conference, San Francisco, November 2003.