(short free verse poem) With grief, there's hope. Or not.
Dusty sun and midnight ink
chokes my mind and blinds my heart.
These eyes morphed to stones,
now obsidian-hue to the observer.
Dutch-blue by genetic design,
but no one knows the truth anymore.
I don't know the truth anymore.
Except the fact you are gone.
Are you? Gone? Are you lost? Am I lost?
Flailing arms drowning in nothingness.
Bare feet search for morning's green dew,
reaching to quench the thirst;
only to feel cracked ground.
Blackened eyes cannot find the moon.
Dry bones throw dust to the sun.
Dance for rain. I cannot.
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