Vickicroppedby Vicki Watson23 Oct 2013

Ignorant of the whole, one cannot mourn the loss of the half,
Despair has no foothold, loneliness no grip,
Until that half is found, recognised, loved.
And lost.

Is a half, unaware that it is such, then whole?
And on discovering that it has only ever been but one of two,
Must it forever live its half-life
With no hope for completion, for fulfilment?

Copyright Vicki Watson 2013