why does a stranger's passing away
affect me so
I do not know
that he did it to himself?
i imagine the despair
as if I was there
but i wasn’t, no one was
left to his own
this man that once shone
his life in the public was inspiring
prolific, kind, a star
but he was at war
that we do not know?
anyone’s reality
their complications, their fragility
we still sit as jury
we speak lightly and loud
until there is a shroud
then we speak in poems and eulogies
we praise the one gone
we introspect and we mourn
then go on as usual and be unkind
to the next person we see.
And that’s the real tragedy.
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