So everyone’s here;
we watched you approach  with trepidation,
mingled with a sensation of hope.
We took **** after **** waiting for
the streets to clear. To dispel all fear
and welcome this world with open arms,
a wonderful world, rid of harm,
and it came as such an alarm that despite it all,
after the war, there was no calm.

Dear Mark, we didn’t want you to see this.
Couldn’t believe this could happen, that we’d
be left, mouths open and standing, grasping
and gasping because we didn’t know
what else to do. Standing on
the sidelines just to watch us loose.

Mark, we walked across distant miles,
tripped over deserts, cities, and distant
smiles, channeled through channels like MBC
from across the seas we could see what
they were seeing, wanted to come close and heal it
but everything got in the way,
so day after day the smile slipped.

We learned to push beyond wit,
to get with it, or be swept by the sighs,
to cry when no one’s watching and let
nothing provoke, and again, **** after
****. No one woke. The dream was too
real. And we believed it.

Mark, I feel so much disgust, so much so
that I’d rather not end this with hope, not
allow the world to look towards a better
day, I’d rather not say it’ll be ok and just lay
me down to rest tonight. I’d rather give up the fight.
I’ve never been the competitive type.

Dear Mark,

I’d like to express my regret,
We’ve suffered a great loss.

And all
at the cost
of nothing.

(Life does come easy these days.)