her

She said that every death is her-

a piece of her dying.

And the tears a woman cries

Across the world-

She pats a handkerchief to her eyes

to ease the pain.

The world’s sadness consumes her,

as she sits in her chair, trying to mend

the broken pieces of her heart.

I hold her hand and tell her,

Don’t cry, don’t cry,

I love you.

But the cries of the anguished

are all she hears.