Solitary Pilgrim

At my funeral,
They will grieve.
They will cry.

Sad tears,
Wistful tears,
Sorry tears,
Polite tears,
Perfunctory tears.

For they have loved,
As hard as they could.
Loved with affection,
Loved with obligation,
Loved with guilt,
Loved with resignation.

But they will not die,
A thousand deaths.
Nor hear their heart,
Break into pieces.
None will feel a melancholy,
So incurable.
Not one heart
Will bleed forever.

I am not,
What I seem to be.
Not a daughter,
Not a sister,
Not a lover,
Not a friend,
Not even an enemy.

I am a lost soul,
A passing pilgrim,
Through this life.
Not theirs,
Not mine,
Not the world’s,
To keep.