A dance upon diary.
A moment to reflect, a moment to digest.
Mourning interjects.
A trembling hand will not let us forget.
Lovingly the buried are set to rest.
Kneeling to the ground earth between our feet.
Lasting moments are our silence as we retreat.
Corners in the darkness.
Candle light vigils leave us with nothing but faith.
We are not shattered, we are not broken.
Set aloof, tripping, ready to be awoken.
Tears choking, what he meant, what he was, just because.
Lost in the fountains of sorrow.
Trying to find the inner strength to stand.
Will the legs yet bend, will the wounds yet mend.
Carried messenger, with wings of the rapture solace is yet to find me.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem