The trees with their mocking branches
Reaching ever upwards toward the sky
Knees on rough earth, cut deeply
The stone drinks blood and tears
The wind taunts both tree and earth
A laughing shriek as it weaves around
A form slumped motionless
Torn skin pressed without flinch
Movement in tears without cease
A tormented heart forever beating
Hands reaching for unheeded touch
The form would scream if only he could
There is nothing left to create this need
An empty shell is all that remains
A frame joined only by yearning
For a lifelong vanished
Best forgotten
If only
If only
Without the yearning
There is nothing
The earth would thirst
The branched would mock no more
And the wind would taunt dust
Only dust.