They lied when they said that the years would mend,
That time was a healer,
That the months would lend,
A blanket of comfort to soothe and end
The pain you felt.
They lied.
They lied with their platitudes and their meaning-wells,
With death comes to us all,
With time will tell,
Meaningless words to comfort and quell
The pain you felt.
They lied.
They lied when they said that the worst had happened,
That time would slacken the band
That wraps around your heart,
And yet,
It hasn’t.
Instead it tightens,
And steals your breath,
Till you pray for the end,
If only because,
God or no,
You’ll see him then,
You’ll be with her, with him, with them.
You’ll stand beside the one you lost
And you’ll find peace.
Because they lied.
They lied.
They sympathised, but it minimised,
What you felt,
And you wouldn’t wish it
On anyone, and yet,
If they only saw a little
Of what you knew…
It will be fine, they said,
In the end.
It will be easier, they said,
In the end.
It will not hurt, like this, they said,
Each day,
Each week,
Each year.
It will not hurt.
They lied.
It hurts more.
It claws at the space in your heart,
And reminds you what’s missing,
What you had before.
It burns your eyes with tears
You should not shed,
For it’s been years,
And surely you’re over it now?
You are not over it.
You will never be over it.
It has become you,
And you it.
A hard knot of grief
That hides inside,
And when they ask you:
How are you?
You say I’m fine.
I’m fine, you say.
You lie.