Out of the ashes was born my belief,
grown in the grave of the garden of grief.
Watered in winter of world-weary woe,
grace of the goddess had caused it to grow.

Grace of the goddess, who loved me for free,
soothed me, so sweetly, by the steely blue sea.
Wooed me and won me, renewed me, reformed,
slaughtered my sorrow, and faith in me formed.

Words like knife blades,
shred the soul to ribbons,
soaked in invisible blood.
Have you ever really loved?

Drenched in your own sin,
covered with lies, broken promises
shatter like shards of glass.
Have you ever really hurt?

Toxic lover, steeped with hate.
Bite the apple, choke it down
Poison drips from your bitter lips
Have you ever looked at death?

Restless soul, abandoned body.
No one came, no one at all.
You burnt your bridge.
Now rot in hell.

“Why so sad?”

“Well, it’s you Grief, actually.”

“Oh yeah, it’s kind of my thing.”

“Why do you make people so inconsolable?”

“It’s really Love’s fault. We’re pretty much a package deal. Eventually, you’ll get to know us both quite well.”

“Your timing is terribly inconvenient.”

“Love doesn’t have a regular schedule. It’s a bit hectic for me too, to be honest. I’m very busy, so I’m probably not gonna get better at that.”

“You can be a bit of a bully too, inconsiderate at times.”

And I thank you for Billy Collins,
George Carlin, and the Archie Bunkers of the world.
The laughter of our inner-most children
making snide jokes without rancor.

Too long have we been sleeping,
and not yet awoken
to the truth of loud and hilarious laughter,
hidden behind hands of protest.

What freedom, to imagine the joke on us,
letting no one in or out,
holding the rest of the world hostage,
with words of wisdom and grins.