Where…

I wake to a cold, empty bed
Alone and shivering
My soul coiling and twisting
Writhing while I, shocked
And dumbfounded, look for She Whom I Love.
She is not here.
Disarray, dishevelment
From my core to the vastness of space.
She is not here.
All my life I served her,
I lent my words, a shield, for her.
Now, she has been wrenched from me
Dragged down, away,
Taken by gibbering ignorance,
Tattered and torn,
Mocked by the cries to make her great again
Coming from the very lips
That spit upon her and all she stands for.
Vultures perch upon the ballot-tombstone
Pecking and shoving for a chance
To rend her scarred and perfect body yet again.
Where is she, my heart, my soul,
My country, my beloved?

About suzanawylie

Suzana Wylie is the not-very-pseudo pseudonym of Susan Wylie Wilson, because let's face it, there are lots of Susan Wilsons around, and as an author, I want readers to find ME and not the bazillions of others. I've been writing all my life - since I learned to hold a pencil anyway - and can't NOT write. Other people have to breathe to live; I have to write.
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