Which sea will contain my sorrow?
How strong a thunder will punctuate my grief?
Could the wind’s howl compare
to this helpless heart’s cry?
Empty Nightmare has become reality
For life as that which I have lived has ceased.
But the road before me is not untrodden.
Silver streaks faintly glimmer declaring hope.
These falling dewdrops form threads that lead to the morrow.
Fearfulness breaks way for courage.
As specters from the Shadow emerge
reflecting my own woes
We reach out our hands and grasp the intangible.
Our lives have not ended.
Changed, transmutated, morphed indeed.
But life remains to be lived.
Now with gusto and zest,
The new pages await my chronicles.