Monday, 19 September 2011


There sadly isn't a sign,
Of physical harm done,
Of an unappealing scar,
Or any smoking gun.

There isn't any blood,
Or charred remains of fire,
There isn't a bullet's shell,
Nor a burning funeral pyre.

And yet there was a death,
The brutal demise of a heart,
Perhaps a true love, lost a life,
When we grew suddenly apart.

And yet the wounds burned,
Far deeper than the skin,
And yet the ache persisted,
Like there it had always been.

So distraught, I rue,
To you, unassuming passerby,
Because I don't lie screaming,
You leave me high and dry?
Because the wounds are hidden,
You close your naked eye?

Look away like nothing's wrong,
While I weep, I weep alone ,
In tempestuous times, In misery
I mourn in grief, I weep alone.