Happiness is an alien concept now.
The people I love are far away.
I am still angry for their loss.
I raise my fist in rage to the city.
Each night I dream of our time together.
Each day I remember that they are gone.
Even so, their words have a mystical power.
I listen to them in my memory.
One after the other, their image appears.
It gives me hope of better days to come.
W. Wayne B.
© 2012 W. Wayne B.