Grief is a gate that opens for everyone
And closes for no one
But there is a question that remains:
The nature of the army that enters.

They all come as enemies,
Some crashing and storming the gate
Some stealing in with sly trickery
Like a Trojan Horse
And some lay siege,
Patiently waiting for your resistance to wane.

But never mind how they gain entry
And never mind that they arrive as enemy.
What matters is what happens next.

If we fight to the death
Then a world of war is with us until death releases us
(If such is the case)

But grief’s becoming, is its captive’s choosing.
If welcomed, in time
It becomes a benevolent occupation army
Blending, and absorbing, and becoming one

With a life that must surely go on.