Poem 4/19

Kept from despair in the mean time, but how long?
When such help feels meager and darkness feels thick,
like a dirge in your ears, all the air is afflicted
by fear of a loss and the knowledge of death.

My song falls flat then where it cannot resonate.
Pining yields churning, yields sleepless nights, terrors.
Yours then must aid me, but you too must sing it,
aloud and forever, if ever there’s hope.

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