It's like a rose vine, Beautiful in its nature. Thorned with a grip that reminds that it's real. It's like a shadow, always present even when no one notices it or stops to pay attention. But of course it's there, Where else would it go? Does a shadow leave the body it follows, No more than grief can leave a heart with a void. It's like a stop sign, We stop because we have to, To remain in order. No one enjoys it, But it's a part of life, no one is exempt, So we do it! Because not grieving in like telling yourself your full and never eating again. We will perish in that lie. Grieving can also feel like a wave of unsurety in an unexpected moment on a random day. It's like a reminder of an appointment we all have to keep, and the sadness of an appointment kept before yours. It's like the rose vine that finds its way up people, places, and things. Pricking the heart to remind you of its presence. They are roses right, doesn't that mean they will add beauty? As they grow deep out of the void in my heart. Wrapped around my lungs and stretching across my throat. Grief needs to be pruned, balanced, and maintained. You are not a rose bush, But a tree that grows roses in its season. Grief can take over, Cutting a tree down to a bush, Making its fruit, Only flowers, Nolonger feeding, But pricking those who come close. However... when pruned, balanced, and maintained, Grief can be like a rose vine, Beautiful in its nature.