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Nothing left


No destination

None to cleave to

This battle lost

Soul exhausted


No joy, no desire

No future plan

Lost all hope

Void and empty 


What remains

When desire dies

One thought only

In this moment




Nothing left


Tried to fix me

Mend me; change me 

Find some way

To be worthy 


Discover meaning

Make it work

Be suitable

And just fit in


Illusion broken

No reason save

Need to quit now

Simply fade away




Nothing left


Am I ready?

Can I trust?


Am I foolish?

Can I feel?


Am I crazy?

Can I cope?


Am I heartless?

Can I love?


Yes . . . no . . . maybe

The answers change

Moment by moment



A terrible mistake
That’s what I made
A small and shallow spirit
I let into my domain

My home and heart I opened
My love and life I shared
He ravaged both in record time
I doubt he ever truly cared

A terrible mistake
That’s what I made
I trusted one not worthy
Only sorrow now remains

So now the pain he’s doubled
To hurt me more is all he knows
Breaking my heart not good enough
He now wishes to wound my soul

Lost I may yet reach my goal . . . Without finding all that I seek . . . I may still be made whole.

Completion can only ever come from within . . . Anything else is an illusion . . . And love the greatest of all delusions.

Why this sadness inside me when just a moment ago I was filled with joy?  Why can’t I let anything good go unquestioned, unproved, untried, unspoiled?  Why must I always feel the pain so much more intensely than the ecstasy?  Why does any happiness no matter how brief scare me into running away?  And why when I hurt are there no tears?

My heart is broken.  No . . . not by another, but rather by life and myself.  It has been fractured so often there may be no fixing it.  I bind it together with sarcasm, wit and humor.  I try not to let the sorrow reach the surface.  I try to bury it hidden deep within me.  No matter the reason or extent of the misery, still there are no tears.

I’m not sure when or why I stopped crying.  I’m not sure I think there is really anything wrong in that I cannot weep.  I’m not sure why I fear letting any other see my anguish or know of my agony.  I’m not sure what it could change, either to help or to harm.  I’m not sure it makes any difference in my life and maybe its better that there are no tears.

Tears and love so entwined in me that the inability to shed a tear seems directly coupled to my failure always to let love thrive.  I live on the extreme edge of my emotions, looking in at them from the safety of outside.  I love only briefly before the defensive shields are raised protecting, but also isolating me.  So it is I stay safe and there are no tears. 

Those trials and lessons sent to me, I have come to accept.  I have grown with each and am better for them.  Early, I found I could safeguard myself from suffering too much by closing the door to my heart and watching life from my mind’s window.  I have not since found reason or strength to re-open that door.  Still, in my life there are no tears. 

Now he stands before me with the reason . . . his love most pure, his strength so sure.  How can I do anything but try to open the door long closed . . . to release a heart so bound . . . to yield to him my soul? To accept what he offers though, I must be prepared to embrace not only he’s gift of heart’s true affection, but also perhaps the return of my tears.


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December 2022