Broken, my heart can’t tell time and emptiness stretches out before me like a deserted road.
Mundane landscapes and an insatiable thirst force me to question my original destination and how I became so lost and found in her presence.
Perfectly formed and heavenly sent with a purpose far greater than the ache in my chest will allow me to grasp.
Bring the storms, the next monsoon that will tear the shingles from my roof and perhaps I will forget for a moment until it is quiet again.
Let me face it all now from my place in the mud and grime, and then from absolute surrender I may rise again.
J. C. Beichner