A sorrow like this in three lines is a paradox
To the silent suffering, to the ones who cry a lot
Like herding cats, a dying character in a pointless plot

everything
just
everything

she sat, isolated and alone
river flows
wind blows
I walked on by
on a path
one glance back

tell me how
the most broken
beaten down
torn up
stripped to the flesh
people

could ever get back up
brush off the dirt
and carry on
like nothing ever
happened.

Confusion is what troubles me
What I am and what I can see
Blindness sometimes is what I feel
Knowing not what is real and unreal
I no longer feel the need to belong
The will that I have is one that is strong
To forever halt the pounding
The pounding in my head
And to finally see the beauty
The beauty of my red
Fear was once an enemy
But now it is my friend
And with the cold blue of my eyes
Does the color so nicely blend
Beautiful, beautiful red

© Christopher Chronister