A Door That Never Opens

There should be a word
For the hollow feeling
That ferments from waiting before
A door that never opens.

There must be a way
To define
The inner ache
That grows from
A love forever gone.

It can be seen
In the vacant eyes
Of a motherless child
Or even a lost puppy.

It must be the most common
Of earthly afflictions.
It is as the flower that springs
From spilled blood
On hallowed ground.

There are no medications to prescribe
No bevy of counselors
To dull the need
The endless want.

Sunrise to sunset
Present a host of distractions…
…But an empty soul
Echoes with silence.