The Atrium

Alone, in the atrium I wait. This existence is a prison. In place of bars, veins and arteries Run from ceiling to floor, Pulsing with anxiety. She waits. I contemplate the sever; so easy. But inside her lifeblood runs. As she sobs, the pace quickens. I am shaken. The four rooms of our children Reflect the four chambers of her heart. I cannot touch them. Despite the darkness in this Chamber of loneliness, I stay. The valves continue to pump, Out of time with my own. We have become lost. Small hands lead us now, Propelling us warily forward But we are looking in different directions. I hold tight, scared to lose myself. Unlike the soft footprints of my guardian, I have experienced loss. The tender lover, Who was at liberty in this cage, And called it his own, is gone, Yet I silently pray for his return because, Father, alone we are not enough.