At the end of a life spent in utter pride
what questions linger in the dormant mind,
what life of chosen solitude led,
that would end in silence with no tears shed.
In ageing years when support is sought
from those whose love in frail arms caught,
what sorrow is absent from deathly bed
when a life could pass with no tears shed.
In distant home, in sufferance lied,
among strangers a woman gave up and died,
what hope of remorse when all prayers said,
when a family remains fractured, the mother is dead,
and a life passes in silence with no tears shed.
But though these stanzas have you crucified
it would be false to say that I never cried,
I hold onto tears for what I never had,
as your life passes by me one tear I shed.
Published in Underground, Issue 4, September 2010