Light peeks through the stain glass window in front of our small crawl-space attic, creating rainbows on the walls in our living room. I stand at the front door overlooking the sunlit street that
...
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"Part of me dies within me,"
you said.
But why?
But why won't you cry, and wail, and roar?
Because the cryer, the wailer, the roarer
is dead.
Dead
but not alseep.
Then tell me.
Tell me why are you sad, distressed and heartbroken?
That's the echo of the dead,
whisper of the ghost.
Nothing more.
Nothing more.
you said.
But why?
But why won't you cry, and wail, and roar?
Because the cryer, the wailer, the roarer
is dead.
Dead
but not alseep.
Then tell me.
Tell me why are you sad, distressed and heartbroken?
That's the echo of the dead,
whisper of the ghost.
Nothing more.
Nothing more.
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