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.

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