Looking Through Stained Glass

mourning
House of Mourning

Tears stop just short of flowing down
So silent runs my grief
Buried deep in the mundane of simply living
Far from the shores of relief

Still I wear so clumsily the my mask of norm
Designed to hide the depth of the moaning well
My true face of sorrow exposed around the edges
All those around me can tell

I claim this brooding on my own
It is my desire
I am not yet prepared to unburden this load
And none dare to inquire

It is not my wish to dwell in this house of mourning
Sleep soundly in this bed of pain
But as long as my heart closets these lamentations
Locked shall its doors remain



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raivenne@theraivenne.com

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