Refusal to Mourn

The infidelity of infidels
Confounds me, like the fear of death. Or dark.
Or fear itself. I should make some remark,
Some mean insult about disgusting smells
That emanate from those sunflower shells
You've strewn about the place. This is an ark,
A safe space, not a junkyard, a car park,
A used tire depot, rife with evil spells.

But you believe in nothing, and your grief
Remains unmitigated, unassuaged,
Your brain too wakeful, your heart unengaged,
Because you choose to nurture unbelief,
A raucous drinker, an unhappy thief.
A good soul is content, and happy, caged.