All days seem the same
© Bozena Helena Mazur-Nowak

The outside world is waiting to be healed
but blinds cover the windows
and pain clings like a demon with sharp claws
and the way out is like the Way of the Cross.

On the threshold the pain stumbles over despair
and in the bedroom guarding memories, curled tightly,
a ginger cat gloomily meows.

There is a void that cannot be filled
when children leave the nest before they are ready to fly.
The nights are darker, all days seem the same.
Unshed tears hover, waiting to fall.
We stare at the blue bike standing orphaned in the hallway
and ask ourselves – Why?