E.V. Black > Writing | WritersCafe.org | The Online Writing Community

I cry out for you. You are not there.

The loss engraves its name into my tender soul.

The vines and thorns bound him to the cross he was forced to bear.

Your heart poured to me that one day.

Beating and bleeding, the wounds in my heart tear open once more.

Trickling and oozing blood in streams; limbs tearing apart at their seams.

My world is spun in luscious colors that can’t be counted in words.

I was once like them in my selfish ways.

My heart sings, like the birds outside, of the tunes of spring and a mirthful stride.

Sand atop grain of sand is a home built.