Ins And Outs of Life

Sorrow blends well with pain, pain commiserates with grief,
Your heart is no longer your own once it's been torn apart.
Sobbing for days that can be no longer,
Mourning all the things that you could've said to change things.
And even if it ended well, you cry for what you're missing.
When every glancing object inspires sword-sharp memories,
Your mind protects itself with a web of tears.
Dead things breed tears.

The throngs of slightly- to very-damp relatives
tend to throttle, to embrace, to choke the air
with half-true sentiments and wincing questions.
Too many hands reach out to cling to anything
while making the impossible journey to the coffin.
But the very worst part is seeing your loved one so empty.
The lifeless body that once hugged and comforted and loved
now resides in chilled eternity.
That one last touch-of the hand, or the cheek-can never have the same feeling.

Eventually you can stop thinking only of them,
wondering where they are, if they're happy, if they're not.
But that sore patch of heart where they had a special place
can never completely close over.
But,
when every glancing object inspires sword-sharp memories,
Your mind protects itself with a web of tears.
Dead people breed tears.