It's the strangest thing.
As if they could not bring themselves
to acknowledge that she's really dead
and gone. Or perhaps they merely wish
that I would be the one to mourn,
instead of them. Of course, it can't be
done that way. The harm they wish
on me just turns into another dreary day
for them. Depressed without admittance.
Fueling the fire of an image that could
never be just them. Glittering into
another shallow evening's end.

It's the strangest thing.
The way the darkness of the night
reveals its following into another day.
Using all their strength to try
to hold the mighty fear of death at bay.
As if such death did not live in their souls.
Marking time within the minds
they choose to focus on a something else.
It festers as it dwells within the darkness
that they think they hold inside.
Hidden in a secrecy that sighs
in everything they say and do.

It's the strangest thing.
That after all these years
I cannot bring myself to care
about the harm that they created.
For this mourning is abating,
just for me...

? Michaelette ?