Widow's Song

Never has loneliness been more keenly felt.
Lost in a monochrome sea of strangers, the colours of my moribund existence
Faces that profess sympathy but understand nothing of my grief.
Of how it grips like a vice and rips away even the ability to cry out in anguish.
Leaving only sanity as refuge which I cling to as sanctuary against the madness that assails.

Spare me your whispered condolences,
your clumsy fumbling embraces of solidarity.
Save your feckless masks of sympathy,
your superficial utterances of commiseration.

For your pity crushes me
and the solace I seek is not one you can give.
Solace I have sought in solitude
but solace in solitude is a fallacy.

For while Misery loves company,
Sorrow remains personal and unfathomable. Sorrow is a just tyrant, impartial in her brutal castigation of her subjects, king and pauper alike. The strong are brought to their knees, their strength fails them. The wise become blathering idiots, reason no shield against their grief.

And I remain alone in my grief, with only sorrow for company.