He was not there
To hear voices
Praise him
He did not know
That hundreds of tongues
Would speak
Of his loss
Piling accounts
Like kindling
On a pyre
Of fellowship
The warmth
Amidst the cold finality
Each knowing
Funny stories
He told with relish
The joke
Always on him
Of visits
To the hurting
Even though
He hurt worse
Hiding the pain
As he reassured others
No one knew
The extent
Of his wounds
Each would willingly
Share his troubles
To carry his burden
As he
Had shared theirs
But he chose
The final out
A decision
We all
Have time to regret
Maybe we will learn
Listening deeper
To what they feel
And not
Just what they say
