Widow
You’re weeping yourself into seldom sorrow,
And painting your sorrow into blame.
You’re blaming whoever shares this sorrow.
You’re sorrow is nothing,
And nothing is pain.
You can’t rain on the shoulder of a highway thief,
Unless you’re effervescent and ready to die.
You can share compassion,
But we’ve all tired of grief.
Go wallow.
Go bleed.
But don’t cry.
If your motion is fuelled by rueful rue,
Then go become paralysed, handicapped, broke.
We won’t care,
Do what you do,
Succumb to darkness and become lost in smoke.
Deprecate us.
Abhor us.
Deplore and moan and kick and hate.
It won’t bring back.
So don’t make fuss,
What’s fate is fate,
Don’t make that hate.
Mourn not that of the departed,
But that of the withered,
So don’t deteriorate before our eyes.
You’re not weak-hearted,
But we need you to prove,
You’re not all tears, all regrets and cries.
And we’ve dug one grave; so we can dig another
Move on.
Don’t stay there.
Don’t die.
Hold onto something, find refuge, find cover.
Move forward.
Keep moving.
Don’t die.
We’ll preach, we’ll claim, we’ll yell and shout.
But if you’re hollow, you’re hollow like stone.
And we’ll panic, and screech and blame and pout,
But you’ll be hollow, and vacant and empty and lone.
Burn away your face in anguish and grief.
But don’t cry on the shoulder of a high way thief.
Learn from his mistake,
Don’t continue in vain.
If you follow the fake,
You crumble in pain.
So if you must,
If you really must,
Follow the departed - go on, go die.
Go wallow.
Go deteriorate.
But for his sake, don’t cry.
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IMAGE: The Departed #2 Woman With Hat by just.Luc
