The emptiness of Grief

I look at the man who digs up the grave of others for a living and wonder,

what does he thinks of it?

I stare at the guard who have his sit in the midst of the cemetery and I dense,

if he really keeps a guard.

To the morgue attendant, who bathe the dead

can you really cleanse the dead?

Or how makest clean that which can't be cleanse.

Emptiness, emptiness and grief is all I see,

the emptiness grief leaves behind. 

For the man who digs the grave, it's the grief.

the grief that he feels at every shovel he shoves so to survive. 

And to the guard at his post, it's the emptiness.

the emptiness from the lengthy stranded hours of quietness at the place of the dead he roams day and night unending. 

Grief! Grief! Oh grief!

The emptiness you leave in the heart of the bereaved.

They try to diminish a little, if they could at least bathe their dead,

but the serviceman could not really cleanse the dead.

The emptiness grief leaves behind.