Words refuse to flow tonight; only toss and tumble from my pain.
I stand before my God small and fragile. My friend says it's the little girl in me; Joyce Landorf describes it as the little bird who has lost her song.
Broken, hurt, empty is all I can muster.
A frail charge who desperately yearns to be loved, but finds the prize beyond her reach.
Love can't even slip through outstretched fingers when love has never cradled them.
Stark reality leaves me orphaned and lost.
Fatherly love should swallow us, but sometimes the fathers can't find such gifting within them.
My hope crushed now that the flame no longer flickers.
Tonight I struggle to feel Heaven's parental embrace.
I know it abounds, but grief blurs the senses.