In the little room in the corner of my
heart,
I find sanctuary from the pain beating
through it,
a constant methodological beat of grief
and sorrow
made up of the voices of all I've lost.
The room is warmly lit by a dim desk lamp
standing on the corner of the little
desk
next to an inkwell and a white fountain
pen,
papers with maddened scribbles covering
the rest.
And amongst the chaos I create,
I find the clarity that the beating
drowns out,
the lesson, the answer, to my questions
of pain,
so I may emerge to soothe my aching
heart.
-Zero
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