my heart withers

My heart withers
on the vine.
My fingers reach
and stretch
across the earth
to find.
I wish to hear
that note,
that familiar song.
But now I'm blind;
I hear only silence,
feel only cold.
There's too much, and
it makes me cry.
There are no soothers
or sayers to wipe my tears clean.
So I just grow around
these cluttered things.
I don't take flight,
I have no wings.
I weave and wind
across the time,
with blackness
cluttered, trailing behind.

by K, Copyright 2011

*This is not a recently written poem, it has been a couple of years.