Grief's War

I will hold this sword high.
Sharp with denial I will fend off the soldiers of grief.

The steel blade effortlessly cuts through the anger and pain.
The gleaming wedge only falters with the appearance of you.

Truth is a relentless beast; rising taller and stronger with each passing moment.
With a swift stroke, I fall.

My sword cascades to the depths below.
There is no landing soft enough to catch the ache overwhelming my heart.

Tears are the silent scream of release.
Slowly, I will stand to battle again.

I will forge a new sword.
Stronger and sturdier than the last.

I will hold this sword high.