The grief would be too large.
I would scream around our routines
begging for release.
I would look upon our food,
the places we would eat,
a hovel shat in by beasts of fields
once walked in and enjoyed,
now ran through and hated
with the ferocity of feet cut on discarded glass.
A blind charge, stumbling, straight into light
once charming, now burning. Our sun and star
now sad fire chewing away on memories,
spitting out seeds it can not erase.
I am here
And You were
here.
The grief would be too large.
Feb 16, 2013
Feb 16, 2013 at 5:39 PM UTC
The grief would be too large.
I would scream around our routines
begging for release.
I would look upon our food,
the places we would eat,
a hovel shat in by beasts of fields
once walked in and enjoyed,
now ran through and hated
with the ferocity of feet cut on discarded glass.
A blind charge, stumbling, straight into light
once charming, now burning. Our sun and star
now sad fire chewing away on memories,
spitting out seeds it can not erase.
I am here
And You were
here.
The grief would be too large.
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