Grief, Pt. V: Acceptance

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Silence Calls the Storm

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So very exhausted
No will to search for a foreign comfort
Nor blank out these thoughts
Traversing through a gravel-covered road
Dragging myself in a cringed posture
Sluggishly
Unceasingly forward
Scraping away my feet
Legs
Then hips

And so forth until there is nothing left
But the black halo atop my head
Which at the scraping of the last hairs upon my scalp
Drops like a coin
Only to be eventually picked up
To be put to good use as any coin should
The vestige of its worn-out condition a tribute to the past
All other traces of the journey erased at last

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