July 6, 2011
I awoke atop a mountain this fair morn,
Icy winds ripping my hair, my heart so torn
And I could only stare and grieve at the force
that took her away; blocked a lovely stream at its source
left again, alone, my petty devices
numbing the soul; cleaving it apart in uneven slices
take it, oh God, take it away!
the pleasurable pain that blurred the weeks and days
so repulsive, so beautiful; the destructive sedative
that brought hope and warmth; and left in spiritual death.

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