Grief Grows My grief will grow. Grow into what? Into an obsession, And I will think about you Every second of every moment In every day; Into depression – A big black hole that opens before me As I walk along. My grief will grow Into an anger so red and raw That I will not be able to see anything else. I will be blind with rage. Its fire will kindle in my soul Until I am burnt up, Consumed by the flames. My grief will renew Like the phoenix Rising purified from its funeral pyre. My grief will grow Into compassion – I will look into the eyes of another And see my own pain reflected there; Or into passion: I will commit myself wholeheartedly To the things that I believe. Grief will grow into seeds of love That I will scatter, And into gifts that I will give to others From the very depths of my soul. My grief will grow – Not into more grief. Perhaps one day my grief will grow Into hope: Hope that I can use All I have learnt To make a difference to someone else. Hope that I will no longer Wear my pain Like a badge on my sleeve, Or let it consume me so totally That it becomes the sum of who I am. Hope that whether or not I believe we will meet again Still I can behave as if we will, So that you can be proud of me. Hope that in our own time I will travel far enough To be worthy to have known you. Hope that I will know in my heart That to let go the pain Is to let in the love, And give it room to grow. Hope that one day my soul Will be so full of love That there will not be room for anything else. Then joy, and not grief only, Will be mine. Kay Allen.