Grief
 
The deepest wells of grief reside next door,
Just out of sight and in the back of mind,
Abstract enough that most observers find
The time to sigh but then do little more.

Those most involved can’t simply walk away.
Their lives have changed forever from now on —
Those who remain defined by who is gone,
Those gone defined by who is forced to stay.

They greet the ones who come to say goodbye
And smile when all they want to do is cry.
Their well of anguish never can run dry,
Replenished by the next in line to die.

When death strikes down a stranger’s soul, they care —
But empathy is more than they can bear.