A silent, fragile maze of whispers
Stumbling blindly through the night
Stand frozen in the morning tide
Never there to make it right
Sorrow trampled on white tile floors
Flaring rage that cries their plight
World crash down in baby's hands
Never there to make it right
Tear drops drowned in driving rain
Fading fast to blinding light
Mourning wails down shallow halls
No one there to make it right
Unanswered questions echo back
Constant ringing, lost the fight
Faces blur and flow away
No one there to make it right
Calm settles in, a numbness spreads
Heart forged on, a hope burned bright
From phoenix fire borne high and wide
Dear god, let me make it right.
Back to my stuff
Back to the library
Back to the Main Hall
Next poem: Bedside Manor