Lamia by Michael Stout

Oh, how my soul cries from the emptiness it feels. If you could feel
the anguish, the desperation, that loneliness has caused, maybe you could
realize the hole in my heart when you left.
Imagine this, if you can, a single soul with his head lifted to the sky.
Utterly alone, standing on a wasteland. No grass or trees, only
emptiness surrounds him. Tears course down his cheeks, hands clenched in
frustration. His mouth is open in a scream that no one will ever hear.
Can you see all this? Do you have any idea how it may feel? Yet you
still keep your distance from me. Is it from fear or from doubt? Where
are you when you say you care? I challenged you and you were not there.
If there is any caring in you, it is out of my sight. Beyond my limit to reach or feel.
Maybe a flower will grow from my tears, once they fall to the ground.
Something to cherish and nurture, a little beauty in my wasteland.
Even if a little beauty should grow, brightening the darkness, there
will always be a tear in my eye. A little sadness for what I lost when you left my life.

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