Separation is the state of final
acknowledgement of the absolute.
Existing in relation to all, you cannot
complete yourself but we will be here,
remembering your name, speaking humbly,
offering colorful ribbons and tears.

Sacrifice is the act, the act that ends.
Who made the choice is not the point to argue;
you were chosen or made the choice yourself.
Whether the cause was just or not or moot,
something was required and you were loss.
Now, you  have that knowing that eludes us.

Placated, soothed by ritualistic words,
we read hollow text and embarrassed by
uncouth grief and the shriek of loss we pray,
speaking of the Ultimate Sacrifice;
we whisper the name of that demigod.
Here….we will never have that knowing.

Guilt is the word, the word that tells;
leaving no room for elaboration.
We wrap your bones with no dreams in
The Cave of the Devoured Prolifics.
On occasion, we hear their soft clacking;
lighting candles, we appease with chants.


This is a reblog of an old poem which I am sadly reminded of every year.