Tuesday, December 1, 2009


She doesn’t see the sunlight shine
In her cave of grief and destitution
She can hear water but not find her way to drink
She can smell fire but not move herself closer for warmth
She takes tiny gasps of air that make her lungs ache for more
She just lays there, mourning, every morning
Thinking if she closes her eyes tight enough
You will be there again…
Her sunshine, her water, her warmth, her air.

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