Grief is a mountain. They say I have to
get over it. So I climb.
Breathing is nearly impossible. Dust fills my lungs
the air is hot and lifeless.
I dig with broken fingernails
in the darkness surrounding me. Thick like gravel.
The mountain is on top of me. Heavy mass
crushing my body. Dead weight.
Grief is a mountain. They say I have to
get over it. So I climb.
(c) Leen Raats
Grief really is a mountain, isn’t it?
One you just keep on climbing, over and over again, never reaching the top.
Climb anyway.You might see some beautiful things along the way.
Leen writes 
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