Slivers of hope remained.
Though scarce, it was enough to push on.
Then
The Call.
Hushed movements
The glimmer of faith,
A diminishing wick,
Cruelly snuffed out by the pinch of confirmation.
The waiting.
The weight of the words
A peripheral flash
Preceding a perpetual storm.
Lamenting
Sorrowful
Groans
Muffled by cupped and shaking hands.
Bowed heads and silence.
Fallen tears of volunteers.
Distorted and stricken faces
Consolidating.
Searching for other faces
Wishing they were home.
When a person is missing, men and women and in some cases whole communities volunteer themselves to help find the person whether they know them or not. Their help is always appreciated, but often their own anguish goes overlooked....
I first posted this on Penlateral a year or so back.