Fresh wounds of first light trickle blood-red at dawn
The past has been shattered, the present is torn
Broad swathes of bruised clouds blanket over the sky
A storm charged with longing and aches of goodbye
Cold hands of grey fog settle over the earth
The chill of love’s shadow, the womb of rebirth
Dark nights of the soul bring on lashings of rain
All these are life’s moments of exquisite pain
— Wayne Visser