The Hollow

Those trails
that part –

the fork in road

that one
hosting the broken,
forlorn
heart torn and eviscerated

bend or break

but that which
was pulled
asunder
will reconstitute

as those roots
that run deep

the will to consecrate steps
in the dark places

shouts into the abyss
those dull pangs
shaking fists
at fates –
who beget
sorrow to follow…
the hollow.

How can this grief
be sanctioned
as a benediction
to greater things?

We stand up
reflect light –
we give glory
by way of
stories…

to checkmate
the reaper

because love –
cannot be destroyed
it can only
change form.

Published by Shun P. Writes

Author, Genealogist, Writer, Poet, Podcast Host, possessor of 2 cents, Blogger and eternal student of life, who harbors a firm belief in his Grandmother's mantra that: "People need to get off of their rump and do something". All while keeping in mind that a cheering section will often get in the way. View all posts by Shun P. Writes