In these cracks of old foundation,
sorrow sets like mortar—slow, sure, unseen.
Each grain of grief, a silent stone,
fixing memory to what remains.
Rain seeps through years of gray dust,
marks the ambiguous wall.
What once was pliant earth
now hardens into permanence.
Footsteps echo on this cold expanse,
each one a prayer unyielding.
The wind itself must bow to weight,
to all that sorrow has set.
And yet, in fissures, moss persists—
verdant witness to tenderness’ return.
For even lament seeks company,
a softness grows through cracking.
Fantastic!
Superb work.
Powerfully penned, S. Excellent write my friend. Appreciate you.
Damian