Empty promises,
fragments of dream,
pieces of me
lost, missing, stolen.
I no longer
yearn their
return.
Damaged goods
tossed aside,
replaced with
new and shiny
things, filling
the voids they
left behind.
Loss becomes gain
with release of pain,
relinquished angst,
quells fears
once worn like armor.
Still, anxieties preach,
false prophets of doom,
a dragon hard to slay.
A day will come
its lies will cease,
and in that moment,
I will rest in peace.

Crystal R. Cook