No Shortfall of Tears In This Silent Room
A room. Once all about music. Silent now,
for over a year.
Every thing (I've) ever done now seems
The silent room where the housebound
griever has been left behind, crawls with
memories of she, the child, who left this
Death is everywhere all about us. We choose
not to look until forced to. People losing their
children every day. Thousands upon thousands
per dreadful hour.
I have no god to fantasize on, who will contrive
to bring peace to this place where death is the
only thought for a feeble mind's thinking. ( My own
fault? Some would say...)
As tragedy , sorrow, pain, "make the world go'round"
from some awful, hidden place (of soul?), where any
air is so thick to be breathing on. "My world" has never
been so jaggedly shattered,
so wholly lost and pointless.
Things will never be as they used to be.