who do you turn to,
this space and time,
with news old to some,
but freshly served to you?
what do you do,
with the delayed reaction,
the aftershock to the heart,
of that previously unknown?
where do you go
to cry, rage and question,
all alone, everyone else,
having already gone on?
when do you stay
the tears, calm the ache,
cease the senseless weep,
of grieving years too late?
why does it hurt
this thing you were
better off not knowing,
but now know forever?
how is it that
yesterdays and tomorrows,
meet the middle of your gut,
and it was just a Wednesday?
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Sandie Angel :o) / May Lu $*_*$