Missing someone
There is such an ache
to this missing.
It is primal.
How does my heart
not scream
a thousand beats
to the remembering
while crying
a hundred more, in the midst
of grasping edges
of forgetting?
What of sirens and bells,
foghorns and mist?
Surely the lost
have never screamed,
nor heard a wayward cry
such as the one
my soul gives
during this missing,
of you.
© Nicole Lyons 2016
Occasional musings of a wandering Mystic: Explorations in Myth and Magic
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