Where?

Where is the hope
Now when we need it?
Where is the love
Now when we wither without it?
Where is the joy
Now when our dearest are turned away?
Where is the strength
Now when we are stripped naked?
Where are the castles of dreams
Now when everything has shifted?
The stage is set.
Musty velevet curtain pulls back
There against the tattered scrim
Of all we held dear
A mourning dove sings her dirge
And weeps for us, mankind.

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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