So many deaths.
And each leaves
A blank; a quiet roaring black hole
In our lives.
Life tumbles past without a care,
but when we’re startled
by that odd, odd moment
that the grief chooses
to darken our thoughts
-- like those clouds that pass
across the sun
and make us stop
and look skyward
with a sudden discomfort --
we remember
that the bottomless Styx flows,
not between the Worlds,
but beneath.
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