Grief lives nomadically.
Flitting from battle scenes to grave yards,
Hospitals to back alleys layered in filth
The faintest tickle of pain
Is an infection: a parasite.
Eyes opened to the misery of every step
The every tear falling
The every heart aching:
To be perfectly aware,
It is a curse.
To see pain is to feel it.
To remember anguish is to live it.
Empathy: given out to waves of love starved people,
Until there is no more to give,
But thousands yet to receive
From a comrade in broken arms,
Who has made suffering an eternal sacrifice.