Please

You know, I've been keeping count.

Of the years,
of the friends.
Those gained and lost,
the memories and the cost.

I'm not sure which
has topped the weight class -
the good, the laughs and the light,
or the pain, the loss and that sight.

Of the headstones,
the folded flags;
the mothers' cries
and brothers' eyes.

I know the count of them all.

Today a year goes to rest,
and a new cycle begins.
I beg of Life a reprieve,
a chance less to grieve.

I know not what to offer,
what you would take in trade -
be it a life, or a soul,
part of me or the whole.

Whatever it may be,
however large the demand;
take off this accursed gyve,
and leave them alive.

bereavementdeathdeath of arhyme

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