We weep for the brokenhearted
who no longer have the tears to weep for themselves.
We weep for the dearly departed like
heavy raindrops blanketing fields of tombstones.
We grope to and fro in the darkness of our own
willful ignorance, morbidly afraid to feel the pain of losing and
never being able to hold again. Every so often,
we build campfires for one another,
solitary beacons of light in the pitch-black darkness,
and we huddle around the flame for warmth,
holding each other like dearest long-lost friends,
embracing each other for peace, brotherhood, sisterhood, love,
some ever-waning sense of familiarity,
until the heavy rains return, extinguish the flame of mercy,
and leave us to once again grope in the boundless darkness,
amidst the tombstones of sorrow.
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