One’s Mourn is No One’s But One’s Own.
Inner thoughts at war with outward expression, expressions of palpable anguish laid visible for all to see.
Dignified moments of personal sorrow give way to triumphant gait and financial gain.
This is now no fair remembrance but instead a celebration, chest out staunch defiance with little sign of deep regret.
A solemn statement, people treading emotions down deep inside a red carpet of notice, for it is hard not to notice such a force which must insist.
Melancholy itself drifts off in constant hypnotic flows across the news station & air-wave channel, to sell anew each full-page spread.
History now displayed in glorified grief, servant only to the full pomp of ceremony with a fanfare sound to blare in celebration such harrowing memory.
As exhibitionist’s takes centre stage, for many in quieter reflection, what truly matters is one’s own emotion.
It is all it means to self that matters, one’s personal grief.
Lost to spirit in a swift search of private moments is now the personal touch of chance celebrity.
Those few minutes to fame or shame with ‘look at me look at me’ for my tears are more real than real itself.
Indeed we all have lost, some much more than others, some prefer immersed a silent unseen observation.
Remembering one’s enemy has such losses too, without so much to show.
There is no need for spectacle or outward expression.
One’s inner thoughts are peace with self, no bigger show required nor seek demanded.
Sour memories of conflict creates new conflict with styles of forced respect is what remembrance is now become.
A pained expression will not suffice.
Respects for dead, hijacked by a living vibrant ego alleviate no pains of loss.
One’s mourn is no one’s but one’s own.