Words
There are no words to atone for the sin of grieving, as far as grief is concerned, it is timed, like a well-oiled but unused clock chiming helplessly, frozen in a perpetual state. What are words now but a muted son's words, as far as she is concerned, it is timed, like a feline licking its wounds moaning hopefully, dreading death's cold door. There are no words to atone for the sin of grieving, as far as grief is concerned, it is passed, like a missed train at a wrong station tooting haplessly, honing human's humour.