morning wouldn’t exist

in a world without night.

morning is a manifestation

of darkness

and silence

when we mourned you

at your funeral,

we all wore black.

were you there?

grief is horrifying

and i’ve seen it everywhere.

my father used to cry himself to sleep

the strongest man i know

broken down by another’s heart not beating

i work with widows

they weep to each other about their spouses

and the friends they’ve lost in senseless wars

i’ve studied works of the lamentation

Mary’s gruesome sobs over her son

her grip on his tortured body

i’ve seen tombs

and graveyards

and ashes

feeling a burden for each soul buried

could this have happened

had we stayed in perpetual light?

with no contrast,

there is no room

to ponder of something different.

perhaps that’s why we sleep through the night;

to delude ourselves out of destiny

through a dream of the morning

and not a whisper of the mourning.