Mourning is for ourselves

They come to funerals with suitcases packed full of regret
that they think they can leave on the doorstep of fate, or entropy;
indifferent masters at best.

The dead are gone, to nothing or beyond.
They do not cry for the life they leave.

Our tears bless our sins of self-centered sorrow.
It is our own loss that they leave us with; their losses are all gone now.

 

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