The dog grows old,
the fledgling you rescued dies anyways,
the water dries up,
the crops (the dreams) you planted turn to dust.
It was not supposed to be this way.
(This breaks my heart.)
Or maybe this is exactly how it was supposed to be.
(And this breaks my heart even more.)
And yet;
The sun rises –
again,
again,
again,
even though, some days, I wish it would not.
And hope whispers –
within,
within,
within,
a meager substitute for all that was lost.
It was not supposed to be this way,
(I say this to myself, again and again,)
It was not supposed to be this way.
And yet;
To dust, to dust – again, again.
To dust, to dust – within, within.
To dust.
I’m glad you write, and read, and then write some more, Molly. Even as I read a new piece the words echo what is often in my heart. Thank you for giving all that I feel wings to fly.
Thank you for reading and being here! I don’t always post often, but when I do, it’s healing to know that we’re not alone in this grief.