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The lonely ache is here again,
It likes to strike in the wee AM.
Ghosts of loved ones haunt my mind,
Some living, some dead, all removed by time.
The deep ache hurts but pain tinges sweet,
With memories renewed in each heart beat.
A pang of longing for special guests,
Who now only remain in my lonely breast.
It’s a paradox to have a heart so full,
Yet also empty with this pain so dull.
And I wait once more for the sun to rise,
To renew my soul and dry my eyes.
