What is sadness
but an egg cracked heart
bleeding whilst beating,
pleading for the pain
to quit calling our name.

What is loneliness
but the same heart
hidden in
the beginning
of youth’s
spinning
those wavering intentions,
so many blanks skies,
too many to mention
as she stares
at a field bare
of flowers
or any crop,
looking for
the time
when her pain will stop.

What is life
but every sad scene
played in-between
the questioning
and hoping,
then coping
with the lack
of any meaning.

What is respite
but when her
tiny body drops
and she does not
have to yield to
the furnace of feelings
that was killing
all that made her
who she was.