Alright?

"Are you alright?"

This questionable monument to stupidity,
built out of concern, but lacking
we fail to convey our compassion which
should call forth other queries
"why are you sad?"
"what is wrong?"
"can I help you?"

instead, in our ritual of enquiry,
in our ineptness of the mind
we fumble with our caring lack of vocabulary,
our better thoughts betrayed by bare words,
our emotion not as naked as those before us.

Someone is hurt, and clearly in pain,
and their eyes betray them, 
their tears are rivers of discomfort,
drowning us in their pathos
as they break the banks of reserve.

And my inadequate response -
"Are you alright?"

A weeping friend needs compassion,
scraped knees need comforting,
those left need bereavement.
We seek to make it better, but fail,
asking the eternally awkward question -
"Are you alright?"
and while all know the ritual is false,
I am met by the equally old response -
the stoic refrain -
that which refutes the pain.

"Are you alright?"
"Yes."
This is our ritual for disguising distress.