Mourn your dead till daylight
slips in through your window, then
take a shovel out back,
bury them deep in a corner
with a stone in full view of all,
and move on.
There will be more dead.
(There already are
more dead.) This is not arguable;
if you mourn for all your remaining days
there will still be more dead. Your mourning
stops nothing except your own forward surge
toward an adjusted world. A modified
society — believe no one
who tells you it’s perfectible. People
aren’t, so it will never be,
and as long as Power knows
deaths can maintain or advance
this current version of acceptable,
there will be more dead.
So: if these dead are yours, mourn them.
Mourn if you want for those other dead
and all who fell as bystanders,
cross-fire heroes, accidental bodies,
friendly fired cadavers. Mourn them
and mourn in advance
for your own inevitable ending,
then plant it all and leave it to grow
a garden full of endings for you to come home to
after a day of struggle for a new start. Both
will be there for as long as you live. Mourning
and struggle will each outlast you.
This is not arguable.
This is how it works.