Its true
Shock is a state
You cross it’s borders
And wander in it for a time
Like some some nightmarish holiday
Then return home

But mourning is a season
It creeps in
While you are away

Like the heat of summer
Or the winter frosts
You must endure it

There is no rushing a season

Some days will be mild
And the clouds will be higher
Maybe the sun will shine through
Others days a storm
Will catch you out

And the torrent will leave you
Feeling empty
Eroded

Mourning is a season

I’m told
Like other seasons
It will pass

Maybe one day it will be
Something like the memory
Of that childhood summer
When it never stopped raining

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