That can’t be born again.
How sore the wound that begs, “be healed”
And let no scar remain.
How fragile too, the tender heart
That once would skip a beat,
But now wells up inside the throat
Unable to retreat.
How salty is the tear that falls
At random, down a cheek,
While deep inside, a thunderous voice
Longs silently to speak.
How light the soul that lets love go
When it can be no more,
And looks not back to dwell upon
The way it was before.