Sorrows envelop the dreary soul
The weary soul
The teary hole
As grief lingers, so does the guilt
So does the wilt
So does the chill
As hands move together up high
together they fly
to get better and die
Fallen upon the stones that cause pain
its laws are in vain
the raw truth remains
No one remembers that dark sullen night
where the starts were alight
but all eyes were shut tight
Now my eyes are open and wide
to the world outside
where I no longer hide
Awaiting the time to be free
with this body
that I call me
About the Creator
Reaching Out
I promise her. I'd do anything for her. She's my mom. Even as Lanie and Deanna are flying home, Mom is scrappy fighting dying. She lays too still in that too-big bed with all the toasty white hospital blankets, in the south tower, at the broad end of a long slow-turning corner that delivers me again to her private room with the view she can't see through, with the beeping that tells us nothing new, and all these ice chips she can't swallow, and a flood of well-intentioned nurses who cannot do a damned thing all the same.
By Christy Munson5 days ago in Fiction
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