My Pieta

Where a part of your soul has lost a limb,
an awkward and hallow gait,
a phantom of fulfillment,
haunts the memory of
journeys once shared.

Such limbs can not be replaced,
only buried under new joys...
if luck prevails

Today I held a tear,
as remembrance surfaced
of once shared mirth.

I held the wound,
my pieta
and thought of you.