we wear grieving, like a        
                              heavy cloak,
with a large cowl and  
                   theadbare sleeves,
it gives, some measure of
                                     warmth,
but never, quiet enough.
as we stand alone,
facing the winds,
that howl... sad,
sighing,
loss.

loss.
complete
and utter
abanbdonment.
....by design or fate,
leaves your heart, foresaken,
your soul, ***** and      
                                     ravaged.
meanwhile, the world
                  moves on, blind to,
the mad monk,
        that inhabits your mind.