Once the tears have been cried, are they worth more than a pail of salty Atlantic water?

Grief is not pain, but torment;
   torment we crave when we know our beloved have died.

And who knows grief?
A people without a home?
A child without a mother?

A mother without a child?

It comes in the night, like a thief,
   but unlike a thief, it does not abscond before the day breaks.

Does grief have a name?
Sorrow?
Regret?
Death?
Empathy?

Or are these grief's friends?

The souls that know will not tell,
   and those that don't know won't either,
   even when they finally find out.

And they will.