I found Griefstar 
in a field
Dead grass and water-logged
point buried so deep
it hit the heart of the world.
Sprouting like a gleaming question mark
Would drawing it rend and tear
pieces, chunks, layers,
or with one tug
could I free this sharpened shard? 
Starbearer of what it means to be broken,
pulled up like a weed, roots strangling life.
Bulb of blood from the land
opening like a flower from a punctured patch 
red tears quiver on a trapped blade
like the droplets that roll from my butchered, burning hand 
there is no handle to grip.
not on grief, not on a heart, not on sorrow
and grieving hearts can’t be repaired on an anvil.
Perhaps tomorrow 
I shall wield courage enough 
to make that final pull of the blade 
sometimes to heal, one must hurt
may I find some solace
in bearing agony’s full measure
to the cosmos.