grieve

I would do it,

but the finality of it all

stands in the way,

the uncertainty,

the hesitation,

sometimes I think

this is the way it should be

all the time;

beyond feeling,

beyond caring,

beyond knowing,

beyond rewrites and

perfection,

beyond judgment,

beyond misery,

beyond charades,

beyond lies,

beyond self-delusion,

beyond love and fantasy,

beyond wondering and doubt;

beyond self;

this poverty has

another face,

another kind of soul,

quiet and alone,

frightened and confused,

the end can be so blind,

nothing more than

a whisper,

spitting and sputtering,

laughing and pretending;

you cannot love anyone,

until you have learned

to grieve for everyone.

.

.