Your designation
without just a quiet,
almost absent,
voice of deliberation
has drawn your doom
in the dust.
Sadness speaks
after you lost your fire.
Love has forsaken
your once bright eastside,
because the morning
refuses to dawn.
Dreaming in the day
when much is in disarray.
Screaming to be heard,
crawling to be seen,
but nothing and no one
receives your hand.
An embittering memorial
all this becomes,
walking on unreflective glass,
wading in freezing water.
You were broken long ago,
always desiring another
to lift you to Heaven,
while continuing your Hell.
Can you even imagine
what it’s like
to be honest for your heart,
to no longer be bleeding?
Can you stand without fear
of falling down to writhe
in the sand from an hourglass,
shattered from rushed time?
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