The burden, unwell

I fear that I border on becoming overly contemplative and analytical these days. I feel much, and examine all- while making attempts toward developing an impervious nature. The burden of a heavy heart is that nothing is untouched by its stain. All appears slightly darker in hue, more sallow in tint, and altogether foreign. I am always well, but beneath it all, I am unwell

giving way to the grey

Valley, Oh valley grey

I have laid back in my coffin of my own volition and have decided to make attempts to gaze at the stars.

The night seldom lingers long enough. The cadence of the rustling sycamore seldom rustles loud enough.  The tick of the clock neither slow nor fast enough.

With the dawn shall come the resurrection, with the light shall come the day. 

A prayer for the broken-hearted?

The pressure builds,each word loaded, leaded; ammunition, weapon - ready for the draw.

Despair and loss-oh-the fingers do linger..over trigger the fingers shall certainly crawl

Each hope, each wish, each prayer more desperate - The constant longing may fool the mind

Yet heart, the wiser, knows truth un-yielding. Future possibilities may be more kind.

Await, await, away shall the pain go - until the heart can feel a new

Awaiting I shall be, for loves gentle embrace, sitting in my very own church pew.