Light under frowning clouds,
a punished child; tears trail
on pale cheeks. Wind howls
crazy cries of a wounded world.
Harvest over now. Loud silence
covers abandoned fields.
Your fixed gaze weighs
heavy on my heart.
On
my way
to
another
endless
day.
Words hang around
in no-where space
never reaching your
faraway eyes or ears.
Dry, lifeless hands
outstretched,
searching,
beg for guidance.
I squeeze them a bit.
Marjon van Bruggen
November 2016
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Author Notes
Chapters 16 and 17 have erroneously been switched.
In this chapter nr. 17 I was musing over a missing part in our life: After all the work we did together, the house we built, the grandchildren all born, we had a right and finally the time to harvest the peaceful, happy days of old age. But the harvest was over before we could enjoy it.
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