In the mists of the early morn
the sounds of a distant church bell rouse me.
I pretend to slumber still,
hoping that my make believe becomes reality.
The mournful toll holds a secret
that it whispers as it shouts,
and yet I cannot quite understand.

The news is instead later delivered
by the one we both love.
The world is suddenly a heavy place,
the weight of which I see on his shoulders.
I am a mirror of his pain.
Seeing the depth of his sadness
sends me into my own despair,
but it is only a pale, shallow reflection.
I almost hope he doesn't see it in me,
as it would only seem a trite imitation,
demeaning his sorrow.

It rings out slowly.
The peal tells the story,
but I'm too close to sleep to listen.
Secrets and pain
smuggled on the breeze,
floating lightly.
That breeze gives a deep chill.

By: moletta