We used to float,
Raising our glasses.
The great unknown before us,
Surely great.

Life in its many colours
Filled my senses, and friends were treasures.
Time an illusion, and crying… just to cry.

With your loss,
My shadow grew.
Every shade of paint against the sunlit skies
Greyed, faded—
Dead trees forming a rigid silhouette.

For one to love life so,
Lighter than the morning breeze,
Understanding beyond understanding—

On your knees you pulled the moon near,
You kissed the sun
And found love wherever you went.

As I drag my shackles day after day,
As the moon moves nearer to me,
I cannot see it.
I do not feel the warmth of the sun.
Nor do I embrace love wherever I go.

For it was ordained then
That I would survive you—
Though the weight had not been foretold.

The shadow puts its hand on my shoulder,
A solemn kindness in its grip.
It is time to go,
To endure… again.

It is not in the pursuit,
nor in the active participation that happiness is found.
It is a fleeting sunbird’s collection of nectar,
and the realization, thus, that the load you bear need not be so heavy.

That the wind can carry more in your name,
and the soil can anchor your feet.
You need not live in the perceived world—
but breathe in the world you are in.

'Tis not for clear vindication,
nor some charitable façade I walk this road.
'Tis only that I found myself here—
dwelling, seemingly lost,
when the path ahead was not clear enough to see.

I know not if my aching body will make it.
I know not if it matters that it does.
I know only I search for peace—
a brief respite—
for it is not searching for me.

Lowering the bucket into the small, unkept well
that is my heart—
beneath the dark, untamed waters,
one might find my eyes as they once were:
an innocent nakedness.

One might also find the stillborn and lifeless—
a victim of the ruthless continuation of time.

'Tis not for clear vindication,
nor some charitable façade I walk this road.
I walk because I must—
and that is all I know.