The loneliness of being,
no gathering choirs to sing,
but instead pale emotions
framing the empty silence.
The river flows,
the hour grows,
and escape becomes elusive.
The damage done
grows with each memory recovered
until recovery seems a distant dream.
I cannot let it be so…
Let pauses be the peace I seek,
introspective growth unique,
early remembrances placed in perspective
when viewed as a part of the whole.
For the whole of who I am is a part of the whole of the world.
©April 2015, Christina Anne Hawthorne