At This Time

It’s a dark time, an evil time, a time when

Mourning has become as common as dust.

But still, these are those times when we all must

Find a way to mourn in the devil’s den.

It is your uncle, your cousin, your aunt,

Your brother, your father or your mother

But a face. Numbers may become a blur,

But mourn you must, though you may feel you can’t.

Death has become commonplace, a mundane

Event, but still we have to shed our tears

Still, we have to bewail our loss, what shears

Our souls and hearts and bewilders our brain.

We wonder why, but time will have its way,

As with our fragile lives evil men play.