Prose and Poetry for Pain

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Howl to The Moon

When the full moon comes, you know it’s time for you to howl to the heavens and hear the echo of an answer. But you can only hear the sound of your own voice, reverberating across all the mountains you have traversed. But what comforts you is, when you howl, those wounded ones like you, start to howl the same way as you do. You’re happy knowing that yours is a universal pain.

In the morning, you run as much as you can, feel the wind hum across your ears, coarse rocks and sand are powerless beneath your calloused soles, valleys and slopes blur in mixed colors but your heart pounds the same hurt, same ache. Then you reach the end of the island where the beginning of the vast sea starts. The sun starts to set replacing the one vibrant blue with yellow, orange, and pink. You sit where the waves touch your fingertips. The remaining warmth of the sun and the cold from the waters silenced the scream coming from the inside.

Then you wait, for the moon to rise above all and collect the world’s cry including your wail.

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