They try to tell me that death is not the end,
and they speak of some metaphorical bridge
that crosses from one world to another,
from the known to the unknown,
from here to there,
away from me…
And I shut them out,
their well-intentioned platitudes
and their misguided beliefs
(if they even truly believe and
aren’t just mouthing sympathetic fairy tales),
and I ache with the kind of grief
that knows that there is no goddamned bridge,
there is no goddamned rainbow-slathered Disneyland
where we’ll be reunited for a time
that stretches beyond all time
that has ever passed before.
Because I know….
this was the end.