It took a while for it to sink in.
The cold truth, that should have dripped onto my face
like an early spring rain, toppled me,
wave after heavy wave,
with the solid wall of a tsunami
that knows no bounds. And when I wake, on the
beach after the storm, I lay among the
debris of everything I had,
everything I built.
Gone.
Well, not really gone.
Ruins of magnificent structures,
things that were nothing but pieces until construction.
It all began to crumble. Now,
the skeletons sit on their graves, staring
me down with soulless passion
while I begin to shiver.

It's like the saying "You don't know what you have,
until it's gone."
When you have absolutely no idea
how very lucky  you are until the
moment after it's all ripped away from
you. Yes, a moment after, because you
have to process slowly what just happened.
A delayed reaction.
Sometimes, depending on how numb you are
to the world that encases  you, it can
be the moment after. Or, if you are
completely oblivious to how lucky
you had it, you could die without a
complete realization.

I knew what I had.
I knew I was lucky.
I just never thought:
It would be me that made it crumble,
I was a malfunction--
Self-destruct too early.
They say you can rebuilt what you've lost,
That these skeletons that watch me can be revived.
But how can you stop a clock that's still ticking?
How can you make it go backwards,
When the hands swirl around, marching in an
Ever vigilant pattern unable to go anywhere but forward?
But I guess that's the point.
You can't change what's been done,
You can't bring back what's dead.
Because, in truth,
It's Gone.