Grief

Walking wreckage, dark, dour, restive, wasting,

Treads upon earth, deaf and blind to the hope

Of new mornings: never seeing, tasting,

Touching goodness; trying only to cope

With unbearable hopelessness and pain.

No salvagers can rescue him, no soap

Can clean the grime that clouds his soul and brain.

His grief has made him into something dead.

His once verdant life bereft of the rain

Of human friendship, starving for the bread

Of human kindness.  The world comprehends

His loss, but it can’t understand the dread

Of what comes next, after the sadness ends,
And memory fades, on which love depends.