Reblogged & modified from 2/1/15. This one came to me as I was processing being at the morgue for the third time for an immediate family member. There’s no place like it. I have several people grieving the passing of their loved ones right now. My heart goes out to you and feels, somewhat, the state of your mangled hearts..
There’s a bog
called the morgue
Whence I slog
called the morgue
Whence I slog
blurred senses clog.
Grief is a smog,
A ravenous hound dog.
I trip on logs
Get caught in cogs.
Get caught in cogs.
I think I’ll blog
To flee the fog
The brutal flog
Low, low,
To flee the fog
The brutal flog
Low, low,
Low on the hog
tribalminded.com 