On the interment of my brother,
The saddest song that one can sing
haunts our wounded hearts today;
so let's admit each secret thing
we're not supposed to say.
Oblivious, we've played our roles
as brothers, mothers, sisters, wives...
Pursuing "all important" goals.
Living unexpectant lives.
While death, that butcher so precise
took aim at inward parts
and hacked another bloody slice
from out our weary hearts.
And what the hell do we do now?
"Go on living," so they say
but they never tell us how
to live without you every day.
We seek routine: the old mundane...
But -- "Dan is dead" -- the phrase intrudes.
We can't describe the stabbing pain
which such a jarring thought includes.
Today I had a thought to share:
I knew you'd hear it: smile and laugh!
I then recalled that you're not there,
and all we share's an epitaph.
Without your proffered shoulder
how can we even cry
or go on growing older
when loved ones have to die?
But we'll be strong and we'll pretend
that life goes on though good men die:
that nothing matters in the end--
though none can say exactly why.
And though they say it's all "God's will"
my anger at your loss still grows
in emptiness that none can fill
and gaping wounds that will not close.
But rest in peace, beloved one;
for love and time will heal us soon
and hearts which beat beneath this sun
will cease to sing this saddest tune.