Emptiness long profounds,
images, voices…laughter,
memories, now. Crushing weight
of stillness, of loss, pervades
winter’s holiday season, so raw,
this presence of Time’s indifference.

Cold is more bitterly felt,
will never melt, from broken heart.

Aching’s longing unfound,
ravages, searches…falters,
presented with pain. Too late,
unmoving stillness of death invades;
winter’s bleak season, he saw,
essenced his furthered Time’s existence.

Love is more poignantly felt,
will always fill, his broken heart.

Heartbeat lone resounds,
savages, portends…ever after,
future, undeciphered, recriminates
echoing stillness of life, cascades
winter’s ice-bound season; withdraw,
quintessence left Time’s subsistence.

Life is more tragically felt,
will ever knell, sad broken heart.

Erin Moen
12/21/03
Copyright 2003 ©