Pick Up the Pieces

Pick up the pieces still
after four years, of my life
and his. The economy
mimics my sorrow
with gas price fluctuation
akin to the apex of my
irrationality.

The war is not part
of the world I am living.
That September affected
us all; the war, only a subset.
The perpetrators still
haunt my endless days
and ruffle my intolerable nights.

I can’t see my normal
returning to my existence.
Half of me died that day;
the other suffers miserably.
I go on the best I can
and hope to see you again.