My grasslands lush with life-soon wither from drought.
What was green now dry, becomes the Valley of Death.
Anguish devours every follicle.  Defeat is my heart.
One can change the way you feel.  But little they think of you.
A rich black veil appears at my feet.
The one who owns Your heart -she commands the waters;
I learn to mourn- it consumes me.  It won’t part.
the master of the depths of your thoughts.
These years of mine are diseased with blindness.  Ignorant I am to braille.
Contents therein are battering truths of her.
Her undetected Friction with my hopes are nectar in my ear.
Parade, dressed to deceive- for my pleasure.
Years I’ve gripped them- not to let go.
Their outer crust crushed by strength over time.
Everywhere else my eyes have seen to avoid the truths in my palms.
My sight has returned.
Droplets of red are expelled from my hand.
My wounds are now self-inflicted.  Cut by my grip-tearing my flesh.
Not wanting to let go.
The light stings my unused dilated pupils.
 Tears escape my eyes.
This battle was long over. My grasp loosens.
How do I let go?