Bereft

depression took a differnt twist with my last miscarriage

I am bereft
Of thought or feeling,
A dry shell of self
Walking in a barren waste.
I am untouched
By heat or scalding wind;
My tongue does not cleave
To my mouth.
My yearning is dead.
I have cried a torrent of tears;
My eyes feel like
A thousand sleepless nights.
The stillness is wide and high,
Light and clear-
No echoes or isolation;
Just a vast expanse of
Nothingness.