I carry my father still.
His absence lingers—
a ghost in my chest,
sorrow and relief entwined, a delicate dance.
Legacy, contradiction,
love and farewell.
His loss burns—
the gravity of grief and mercy found.
He no longer diminishes the flame in me.
What he once built in power,
I now temper into wisdom.
I give a different shape
to our line—
a softer curve,
a living divergence
that still remembers its source.
His shadow remains,
transmuted by my influence.
© 2025 Raven | Jasmine on the Grave. All rights reserved.
Jasmine on the Grave 
The complexity of this grief is stunning: a sorrow that gives way to mercy, allowing you to finally use your own flame to reshape your legacy with newfound wisdom. Loads of love 🤍
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you 🤍 grief really can become something merciful.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Have been there .. can totally relate ✨
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you for relating with me. ❤️
LikeLiked by 1 person
Anytime 🌷
LikeLiked by 1 person