falling fast in a dark shaft
with no handholds or bottom below
cast out on rough seas alone
struggling to stay above the waves
walking ghostly among the corporeal world
or like the only fleshly body in a landscape of phantoms
nauseous stomach like something within needs to be expelled
yet empty inside with a sucking black hole fixed at the center
a multi-story building crashing down upon all around
scattering debris and forms unmade and unidentifiable
cold—ice cold—stripped bare in Arctic air
and burning in a waterless desert under a scalding sun
the numbness of all this existing inside
concurrently with everyday, ordinary life
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Matthew Erickson 
These words ring true to me, especially about how strange it is that everything goes on as usual while one’s world is falling apart. It seems pointless, even annoying, to have to eat, wash one’s hair, etc. And it doesn’t make sense that the world keeps turning. Thank you, Jesus, for crying with us.
A most poignant passage of grief ever read…
This poetic reflection expresses well how grief can be. Thanks for sharing it