In remembrance for the tragedy of tomorrow,

In remembrance for the tragedy of tomorrow,

so soon after Tunisia and all those who have lost someone.

It is not a cup of kindness.

But a drain.

A desperate, teasing whirlpool.

And no matter how

You try to keep it filled

Faith struggles to keep up.

There is a constant drip.

A chipping away.

The loss of good memories,

The elusiveness of a voice,

That can never change,

Just your recollection.

The disappointment

And resentment

With every dawn that breaks,

As each new day

Bears the scars of old heart ache.

And never an answer to satisfy

The silent word, the unasked why,

Forever attached to the tip of your tongue.

It is a constant thorn in your side,

A chronic disease,

A debilitating lower back pain.

A subtle twinge and vicious reminder

That you may never dance

With the same abandon

Sigh and hum with satisfaction,

Sated with joy.

Or linger over the little things,

In quite the same way,

Not without a pause,

For thought.

It is not easy, to

Laugh too long or freely,

When even the end

Of a less fretful day

Ends with the familiar,

Dead eyed, hollow fall into a

Shallow pool

That is the home of fitful sleep

And the lies it tells.

The uplift of whimsy,

As you glide into a

Familiar gentle space,

A moving passage

That resounds to the echoes

Of times long gone,

Unless it really

Was just yesterday.

But the truth still burns

In your heart

And the haunting

Returns to leave its card,

Marked in the darkening

Cries of morning.

The weeping of lost souls,

Drowning in sunlight,

As the way of things

Is remembered

To be just the same

As it ever was,

When hapless survivors awake

From the pit of a guilt

That was never theirs to dig,

But theirs to take

And they suffer to carry

The filthy earth

From that grave, unto the next

As an undeserved

Burden,

Until the end of forever.