Pain of modern, ragged wounds.
We lie alone in cold, clay tombs.
A broken body, feared or fair
buys sympathy, and comfort shared.
But hearts all shattered, cold or burnt
speak to us of strength unlearnt.
Why should spirit's greater pain
be met with empty, still disdain
when little cuts and bruises earn
the unmaking of all things stern?
Still, and find compassion here
For I know you face unknown fears.
Break, and let your spirit lie
And to all things but say goodbye.
Time has come to lean, to cry.
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