Easter mourn.

And I am somewhat glad
to be home among the sunshine,
not enclosed in sterile walls and
the heaviness of surviving a crisis.

But it's me who keeps myself safe.
No one else.
That burden hangs closely,
though I try to bury it in the
spring-green grass swiftly growing.

I feel the loneliness past dawn,
in spite of the joy of morning.
I can't shake sadness that festers deep.

Perhaps they call this bittersweet.
Remembering then, smiling now,
yet knowing life has changed too much.

And I hope I can survive this change,
or even, the lack of change.
In a whisper of hope, I keep going.