Great Grief

Oh God, how great is grief that grants the means to be inspired Breathing life again to empathy that I thought had expired But if my malaise capitulates the lingering emphatic ache Could I succumb to joy again? Or at least find some relief in familiar pain? Either way, if I'm to raise my voice again I should celebrate And take some comfort in knowing That the slow introspection that I felt in isolation Has left me with an elucidated sense of self And I know that it may not be enough To satiate the phantom ache that I carry in my timbre But it softly shakes the taut embrace That doubt had once maintained May flora bloom from every wound that I've volunteered to display After all, don't I deserve to be happy too? There's a bouquet for every misery An embellishment to all my weaknesses I'm jubilant in my undoing; you say it should hurt but I don't feel it So I propose that if I'm able to articulate my woes In communion with an assembly who can relate Is my pain not a price I should be willing to pay? What is the worth of a misery if not experienced in jovial company? There is catharsis to be found In the comfort afforded by our generous despair So celebrate with me There's a bouquet for every misery An embellishment for all our weaknesses Be jubilant in our undoing Does it really hurt if you don't feel it now?