Will time perhaps begin to dull the edge
Of sharpened pain, bled long into the night?
The clock has stronger powers, some allege
Than any form of salve or balm despite
The tempting call of sleep or drink or ought
Which promises to soothe the deepest pain.
The arms of God are stronger still, we're taught
And truth of this I've found before. In vain
Does all else promise healing. I will run
Into the Father's arms, I know, and yet
My grief has not waned since it had begun
And God knows, sweetly waiting. I'm beset
Unready to be healed or soon consoled.
God knows it is not well yet with my soul.
postscript
Everyone grieves in different ways I suppose. Poetry is one of mine. Perhaps this will help you too. Psalm 34:18-- The Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves the crushed in spirit. But I think he also knows that sometimes we must be angry first.