Death on Hold

Once
the what of lonely was asked
why this heart feeling tired
worn out
fatigued?

Are flowers
no longer to open their petals
skies to remain gray and void of love's colors?

The what of lonely invoked the dialectic with
Is this loneliness but the result of passion unanswered
regrets unheard
contriteness unaccepted
weeping without acceptance of self?

With a caress...

Could lonely be more than a word of sadness?
Might it be but death on hold?

The questioning gathered its shadows and disappeared
leaving behind a robin's egg
moving precariously
beneath a mother
peering intently
as a dawning sky
emerged