My mouth:
a never ending postcard
all it ever says is
I wish you were here

I know you're better off up there;

but, why does the heart still ache?

Why do the tears fall upon the mention of

your deaths?

Perhaps, if one of you stayed behind,

it would have made the pain

a little bearable. Why is the heart

so perverse? Why doesn't it accept the

simple yet insufferable truth?

Now I'm on my knees while I'm

begging God to let me see you one last time...