On Grief

The problem I have with grief
Is that even as a young child
I was aware that the world
Didn't always have my best interest in mind
Rarely had my best interest in mind.

As such I took easy to isolation
Not so alien
Not so strange
Voluntarily an island
An insular prominence
In this ocean of processed emotion.

A complex coping mechanism
I handled with care in younger days
Like a gilded chalice
Taken only in the sacristy's privacy
When I believed in such things.

My inward lens
For outward trauma
Indulgent and introspective
Yet.

In the shadow of death.
In the midst of a funeral.
My lonely, buried treasure
Revealed!
In the scope of grieving eyes
More vocal and expectant.

Suddenly recreational reticence
And internalized reflection
Forced into the open
By those believing that the act of grief
Is valid only as a public display of
human reaction.
A duty to the deceased
A duty to those suddenly aware
that they are living.

How strange it is
To mix
Business with pleasure.