Is it possible to know the loss
before it is taken?
To feel the hurt
before it is given?
I weep not for what has happened,
but for what I know that will.
My heart breaks for a sorrow
not yet lived in
I feel a pain not yet there.
Am I so eager to feel the touch of death
that I will find him before he comes to call?
Does my blood run so cold
to preempt what comes tomorrow
and force it on the shoulders of today?
Or could it be,
through some misguided sense of honour,
I have come to think
that by bleeding out before the sacrifice
I spare myself at death,
and so drink, early, a cup less full.