Rubble.

As I lie in a shattered garden

As I  tread upon the weeds of glass and ash

I find but one flower

A flower of budding hope

But it was as frail as my anger was strong

Overcome with frustration

I looked at hope with a glance

And I felt uselessness

The frail lives in this shattered garden disappeared

But they left their roots behind

Left them behind to suffer the pain of their quick deaths.

This small hope couldn't take back time, our words, our actions and thoughts

It could not bring the dead back to life nor had it the right to bring the life to death .

It could bring condolences but what good is it?

It might bring peace but with whom will I share it with?

Hope may have been a comfort but my pain says there is no such thing

How should I contradict such a pain that is stronger than my will to live

and my will to stay strong among the fallen if my spirit was among the fallen?

The shattered garden may have once been beautiful

But as I ponder my state of being

the sharp edge pierces through

There was no more pain but there was no hope either...

Just a shattered garden of ashes