The ancients said, “The heart holds the soul”
But who can know the home of my being?
Am I to believe the words of the dead?
Or shall I search myself from within?
Now you are gone, the pain is surreal
Introspection may well be naught
I look within myself to find
A way to climb back from the abyss
Find my pain and the answer will be clear
My loss is as tangled vines running deep
Crushing soul and choking spirit
My heart holds the pain and slowly dies
Grasp the vines tightly and begin the climb
Back to myself as I try not to fall
The dead may hold the truth after all