I will not cry for the dead

Unbeknownst to me,
I wrestle with a desire to cry.
This on the eve when the heavens open up to welcome a saint who was not a saint.
At dusk, just as the dust on his grave settles.
I hold back a flood of tears willing to burst behind my eyes.
My heart shatters into a million pieces at the realization of this great loss to us...the living.
My vocal cords prepare to let out a great wail.
I hold it back in fear of ridicule.
I  retreat to the solace of my room.
The harder I fight the tougher the fight becomes.
"He is finally resting...his long walk has come to an end" I console myself.
When in reality I know his death was by no means an escape...
When in reality I know his passing was by no means a means of rest...

His death...a final sacrifice
His death to once again unite a nation which bleeds the souls of
abused children.
A sacrifice to free the living from the misery of selfishness
A sacrifice to unite a nation divided by corruption
A sacrifice to awaken the living to the misery caused by greed

I battle these hot tears for I will not cry for the dead.
I will reserve these tears for celebrating victory over that which today keeps us enslaved.
I will  reserve these tears for when we are finally free.
Free from being slaves to the very
liberties we enjoy today.
I will not cry for the dead.

I can no longer fight these tears...
I cry for the living