​Grief

Let me preface by saying that I don’t consider myself a writer, have never done much creative writing of any kind, but grief is a beast and I have found since tragically and unexpectedly losing my 27 year old brother 3 weeks ago, that writing has been a huge release.

I can’t format on Reddit, but you should get the drift of the flow. It’s heavy on the Mythology front- reading Greek tragedies has been somewhat comforting while I navigate grief. 🤷🏻‍♀️

Anyway, tell me honestly, is this an absolutely butchering

Attic

Sisyphus taunting, would Thanatos hold there? A long-lived short victory; my prayer left unheard. Winged sandals soaring, did Hermes deliver? He reminds me of you in the stories I’ve read.

A stand in mum’s garden, the grapes now grow wildly. Dirt up to my elbows, I gouge out the hole. You leaping from rooftops, bells jingling at Christmas, your carefree abandon, earth fed to the worms. Looming shade, guide me. The tree swaying wildly, Orpheus’ screaming, a seed from my throat. The serpent’s swift striking, grief grown and striking, green leaves all now rustling my scream- a wind-song.

Dreaming of Lazarus, you haunt every waking. Dandelion floating, ladybugs, storms. Furies bestow me that ivory-clad gifting. His thread stretched out, finding a violent, swift snipping. Atropos’ inevitable form.

Cloaked by the moonlight, a cold breath behind me, Perseus strikes down A second too late. The roar of the sisters, the whole damn world quaking. No hero’s return, stone bodies you lay.

Coiled up so tightly, Dionysus entrap me- this Maenadic frenzy, a tear at your spine. Relief, all eluding, continuously floating, heads bobbing, brine churning. The Lethe, dust dry. Eternally mournful: “He’s not going to make it.” Echoes vibrate down the line. Achilles a roaring, Patroclus fallen; a howling as deep as the night.

“Six then, now, and always,” my siblings fold around me. Our certainty wavering, we’re felled fennel trees.

A moment suspended, sky-bound and ablaze, our Icarus soaring, and meeting the sea.