Dear God, why does it linger?
Eyes know nothing of ardor, feeling, passion, pain, even lust. They only see. Their only job is to accept what is there when you open those big blues.
It is the dove of a woman who wisps out feverish hands to hold onto truths that do not exist. Why God, won’t you come down to tell her Yourself what is real?
She looks, opens her blue birds and wants to be more than what she is right now.
When she reaches into the moon of her eyes to pull out the sockets of residual hate passed down from weeping women-- also wisps with fevered hands- reaching for something more, that they don’t know exists.
How do you go on living when all that is left are reasons to close your big blues forever? Wrap your cloak over those reasons to keep going; hang your eyes on the coat rack.
Accept the unacceptable fact that you cannot heal the whole world with a broken heart,
or even a whole one for that matter.