Sorrow

Sorrow. The sight of a mother giving birth to a life that won’t live, ending. The wail that shattered the air. Beginning. The tears on her empty face drawn to a place that is hollow, hollow like a dead tree tossed in the wind. The many times my hand met the skin of my brother. my hand. Did his face have to be bunched up with rivers running from his eyes, rusty sunset rising from his skin? No. My hand was mine to hold I could have done something I A soldier hands of dirt and blood, clasped in a silent prayer. Waiting beside a door. Listening for the beep of the monitor keeping time with his friend’s heart. Pleading What could I have done? His life cannot be gone Please. Please. On the wings of the world rode the echo of the tears her fears my regret my regret my one regret as sorrow settled over the world. The soldier, waiting beside the door hears a cry, the cry of a heart wrenched from its place, torn, lifted by the winds of a wail, a wail that shattered the air, and a cry from a mother when she knew the life that would not live.