When the shock of recent death slowly relents and allows that great flood of grief to trickle past the barrier of hardened feelings so hastily sandbagged upon high, an impenetrable quiet descends. The former artifacts of everyday use so long employed take on the feel of the cold marble found the inside of a tomb. The silence fostering the din of recent memories so trivial before but now as rare as as the scarcest mineral. Every picture rattles the imagination to summon the most lifelike of mental effigies to fill the gap of loss of flesh and blood. And after every exertion, finding only hollow echoes of one’s own tear wrung emotions. Though the appearances of sun and blue sky may interject themselves into the persistent pall be not deceived that one struggles impotently in a land of massive weight attempting to motivate what was clear and economical from the hard flint of lingering despair. Futility is a banner that cloaks all expectation. Why lift another finger if all one’s loves are destined to come to naught and disappear into common ash? The thoughts of ends and beginnings spiral into melancholy and beauty exquisite becomes a muse both distant and just out of reach. Tombstones and coffins pass by freight-train-like interrupting further life’ at the intersection following each other like boxcars. The long parade of humankind travels in endless mute procession slowly disappearing into their own ashes and dust. The most tender of gentle of souls falling quickly by the roadside making possibility of lasting happiness extinct. The incessant plague of unexpected chaos scattering one’s pipe dreams into the oblivion of forever.