The Loss I

I have been released
To my own life and
Hate its emptiness its
Bitter cup held
In my two hands.  She
Held us together, the
Lynchpin and when she left
We split, were gone,
Scattered to the winds.  And
Now there is schism, a lack
Of contact and
So it must be for
Us to live our lives
As siblings not the same -
She bore us both but
We have different
Names and destinies
And lack of understanding
Grows.  The seed must fall
On its own ground
And sprout as it was
Designed, and I must raise
My mind to
Look on hope as real, on a
Path ahead as possible, that
This bitter vacancy
And my five wounds
Will, sometime, be filled
And balmed.

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