Resistance is Futile

No amount of prayers,
no amount of tears,
no amount of grief,
no amount of pain,
no amount of longing,
no amount of waiting,
no amount of memories,
no amount of Love,
no amount of anything,
will bring my son back.

Resistance to his death
is futile.

Yet I resist.

The Valley of Death

When my son died,
in Afghanistan,
I died too.
My love for him,
is clothed,
in agony.
Not knowing how,
to live,
with him absent,
from the world,
often times,
I wanted,
to cease,
to exist.