a different stripe of sorrow..
That distinct feeling
Where youíre not missing a certain someone
Itís the stark cognizance alone
That youíll never hear from them
That be penetrating you with the most
Piercing of griefs
No matter how familiarized
Or at peace you may be
With the old knowledge
Your paths have permanently sundered
You still deal with their ghost
Shooting a bullet
Through your sutured wound
All over again
Coming across things
Concomitant with their presence
Leaving you vaguely pondering
How you still go about your day
Yet you donít miss them...
Itís the sheer abrasive rawness
Of their permanent absence
That makes the soul wail out
A disparate melody of its deepest groaning...