Right, storyage behind this one . . . one of my buddy's mother's died . . . and I couldn't help him . . . but as I was driving home last night . . . well, you'll find out . . . my apologies for this not being beautiful, but I had to say it, and this is the only way I can express it without losing all of the meaning to flowery language.

Assuage

I'm sitting in back, on this hard wooden bench

Trying desperately not to cry

O, my friend, you hurt so badly

and I cannot hope to assuage your pain

You turn around, see a massive group

of friendly support - through your tears,

you manage a slight smile.

You have to carry her in,

Pallbearing your mother to the front of the room

But you're only seventeen - this is not right

Hell, even the pastor's crying,

nearly too hard to speak

And he's used to this.

Cold seeps inside of me as I see

You cry - but I'm sitting in back

And can't fix what's wrong

My damn tissues are all used up

(And I don't ever cry)

I want to rip your pain away,

Destroy it, and make you happy

But I'm unable.

We head to the cemetary

Where you must carry her to her grave

But you're only seventeen - this is not right

Now almost everyone is sobbing

Your massive group of friends cry too

And we're all coming to hug-attack you

There are no watery smiles now

Just bare, cold grief, the building clouds and sighing wind

and a group of outcast teens who care

Back for the luncheon wake

We quote Zim, and dance for you

You smile a bit - it's shaky, but it's there

And we know you're going to make it through

We're here, to be strong for you

I'm driving home in the windy dark

My resolve breaks as I stop at the lonely crossroads

Trees moaning in the dark wind

I turn off the car lights

and cry for endless moments

I miss her too, but there's a hole in your heart

You hurt so badly, and I can't fix it

But when I look up through the trees

I see some gentle snowflakes start to fall

And I know it's going to be okay