The ringing in my ears hasn't left
And schrapnel and shards stick out from the rubble.
Rummaging, scrounging for a useful miracle
As my emotions have been wrenched into purposeless scraps
Heaped on the floor, like overworn rags.
I'm looking for pieces of him.
If I'm lucky, I'll dig up a fragment from the dust
And brush it off; rid it of soil and rust.
And I'll gaze... and stare... and wonder...
Then remember he doesn't care.
And the snippet of him I'd found in the dirt
Will crumble between my hands
And I'll try to scrape up what's left I can find,
But it's already swallowed by land.