The soul takes leave of the body,
half-mangled by life.
Sorrow sweeps over in waves,
rising to a crescendo,
then ebbs like the tide.
The grief remains,
like a dead weight
around one’s neck.
What is it about death
that leaves one
pensive or subdued?
Is it the pockets of absences,
the anguish of unspoken words,
or just the shocking
ephemerality of life?
