Naomi Bucher
Grief is such a funny thing.
It comes and goes like tidal waves.
She spends her whole life running,
’til it catches up some summer day.
It pulls her underneath the current.
Vision blurry, distant thunder.
The more she tries to swim back up,
the more it starts to pull her under.
Love is such a funny thing.
It shows up where you’d least expect.
In strangers smiling on the street,
to tender kisses on the neck.
And love is not a gentle creature.
It feasts until there’s only bone.
Sometimes it feels like hellfire,
and other days it feels like home.
Hope is such a funny thing,
for she knows how it deceives her
she made it her own God,
and prayed he would receive her
She sees hope in the darkness.
and it glistens at her far away.
It flashes its Cheshire grin,
Cause it knows she knows it will not stay.
Death is such a funny thing
It knows not enemy from friend.
Every saint or sinner,
Will face the same sick end.
And when she sees the pearly gates
The world seems not as vast.
Sleep well, girl. Sleep, sweet nihilist.
For she’s found true peace at last.