Funeral.

Crying at a funeral

for no particular reason,

other than the heavy sense of

grief and

similar watered eyes.

We all cry the same;

though in different moments

and shades;

some tears are kept inside

and lubricate us,

tempting us to fall apart

like frantic machines.

Crying at a funeral,

for no other reason

than respect:

a poor and facile reason

that any cheap conjuror

can tease

from water-ready eyes.

Crying at a funeral

because I would like

to have known you

and loved you

like your dearest;

But I never did.

And I never will.

So I sigh,

but my eyes don't become moist

with tears

that have no place,

or bearing

within my soul.

I'm sorry,

but sometimes the dead

die quietly,

and the living

have quiet thoughts,

that cannot be placed

and so live

in suspended animation;

but somewhere,

real tears are shed for you:

tears that began on the day of

creation;

tears that will run for ever,
weeping at the beauty,

and banality,

and wonder,

and futility of it all;

tears that run through us all,

and prompt us to remember

that one day

we too will die so pointlessly-

like you -

after living under the

hammers of others,

and a boundless night sky.