Loss Joy.

I sit outside under the nearly new moon, the squeaking of bats exchanged for the sounds of the now sleeping crows. I sit outside in the darkest part of night and I beg of you: You, who have lost your child, your dreams, your love. You, who have your particular forms of loss that keep rolling in like ocean waves. You, who are broken, bent and cannot get yourself back together into any recognizable form. You. Tell me: now, much, much later, what you know of joy.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s