Gracious Words.

“The still of silent night falls
to rest upon his mourning
soul. Fallen clouds linger,
dark and dense; memories,
of what once was, advance
in unrelenting waves of salt
laced syringes, scarifying wet
skin and extracting fragmented
shards of hopes and unspent
thoughts of future tomorrows.
And he weeps.
Sorrow spills solemnly,
pooling underfoot. His broken
gait no more than treading water.
He cries for help but his
saviour is drowning.”