The mourning comes. You wait in waning hours.
A dark window. A stalking, silent end.
The light fades from his eyes as tears fill yours.
Eternity comes, claims a fallen friend.
Recalling lost moments of what had been,
the sparks of brightest love, the shades of hate
most deep, and all the lights that flash between
now come to haunt you. Crushing weight of fate.
The memories you clutch, in grip of death,
allow a smile to briefly crack your lips.
The moment swells, at last you catch your breath.
For paths trod hand in hand can dark eclipse.
Then it's passed. Dark returns and heart turns black.
Too late. He's gone. Nothing can bring him back.
Jun 4, 2020
Jun 4, 2020 at 8:49 PM UTC
The mourning comes. You wait in waning hours.
A dark window. A stalking, silent end.
The light fades from his eyes as tears fill yours.
Eternity comes, claims a fallen friend.
Recalling lost moments of what had been,
the sparks of brightest love, the shades of hate
most deep, and all the lights that flash between
now come to haunt you. Crushing weight of fate.
The memories you clutch, in grip of death,
allow a smile to briefly crack your lips.
The moment swells, at last you catch your breath.
For paths trod hand in hand can dark eclipse.
Then it's passed. Dark returns and heart turns black.
Too late. He's gone. Nothing can bring him back.
A sonnet to my best friend, who is alive and well at the time of the publication of this poem, born primarily out of the fear of the loss I will feel when that is no longer the case.
