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?