Grief

Grief floats in the air,
Grief is molecules in H2O,
Grief is in every child's eyes,
Grief hides behind every sorrowful soul.

But, grief comes looking for its victim,
Every once in a while,
To torture and steal one's soul,
And leave the desecrated carcass to rot.

Grief comes in forms of video,
Where poodles are slapped and slammed against the door,
To make them stand on 2 feet?
Where researches are conducted,
On the sexual intimacy of a dog and a woman?

Grief also comes in forms of connection,
Where space is made for men and women to interact,
To discuss on what position is best with a horse and with their own child?
Where goods are made accessible online to everyone,
To torture each other in the excuse of satisfaction of pain?

So, does it ever end?
Does grief ever have a full stop?
Will perfection be impossible to achieve?
And being imperfect is the latest normality?
How extreme is imperfect to be accepted as normal?

I need answers.