The Return

A tenebrous void occupies my soul like a queasy, dark, wintry cloud hanging low and heavy with sleet and frost. No gelid wind blows it away and I despair. I cannot forget the dead. An empty, lonely chapel still beacons. It stands alone amongst the tall dark pines of an abandoned forest. Inside, the dim light filters poorly through dirty broken stained glass. There's nothing inside but dust. No chairs, no pews for the weary traveller. I sit on the cold slab tomb, wonder who was laid to rest inside the sepulchre. Then did I realise I was alive. All memories stored deep inside me. The waking of empathy especially to the self, is painful. How oft had I tried to erase my thoughts on you? I leave the disused chapel and return to my empty home. I still think of you.