In the Shadow of Death

In school they teach us to read and write
at church they teach us to believe
our parents taught us wrong from right
but no one taught us how to grieve.

Numbness comes first
and then the fury
(unbelievably fast)
a rabid animal
clawing and gnawing to break its way out
screeching madly,
"Hear me! Let me speak!"

But you clamp down on your throat and hold it in
decorum demands
only rancid tears and choked off sobs
are allowed to escape
but, oh, how you ache
to pummel the flesh and stab at the heart
of the selfish one
who did this to you; who dared
to abandon you.

Time contrives
to muffle the scream of death's parting gift
but you never forget
you've been left all alone
to fend for yourself
in an empty world
where
color is dulled
and the path that you forged
is now overgrown
and strangled with weeds.
And still your heart beats
demanding you breath.

There is no text or cryptic clue
on surviving grief, no University
conferring degrees in grief-ology
no guru, no priest, no relief
you just muddle through.