Stories and Poetry

Witnessing

Can you hear the wind through the trees?

The Doves coo at the sunset.

A breeze softly on my cheek,

My soul is raw and unsettled.

The abyss of sorrow fills me,

Every cry there can be,

Every soul in need.

To see, feel so much sorrow,

The searching that will fail.

To live life of illusion,

Only those graced may prevail.