A Mass

Upon these waning mountaintops I felt

the loss of you for the first time. Every

notion staggers below with dull, opulent

eyes flowing over the gravel and sands.

In each direction there remains what once

was, and still is, completely unfazed

by your removal from this Earth. Can I

truly accept your absence when nothing

around me has changed? Such resonant

feelings waver inside, it’s impossible

that no amount wouldn’t escape and affect

my surroundings. Those encompassed

in the journey look on with smiling teeth

and joyous cries, enraptured by the natural 

world. Absolutely nothing echos what

you’ve done, and where you now sit;

hopelessly, I expect something tangible

to acknowledge my great sadness. With

no outstretched hand, I feel nothing 

for the wonders that yesterday compelled me. 

The looming colored mountains once

possessing heavenly oppression appear

as if a minor wind could topple them. The 

aging ruins of an empire ingrained in this

Earth no longer feel essential; tattered

bricks strewn about during the onset

of a conquering. Lifelessness overwhelms

my sight and all I take in. Dead and vapid

is the world around me as it continues

to tread through layers of unaffected

time; beating no pulse and breaking

your memory, moment after moment.

The only extension I sense is heat,

radiating through our thinning air,

sternly holding me to the 

ground with little room to breathe.

Always have I hesitated in the

warmth of the sun, now it appears

as cruel and detestable. Never more

have I craved the stillness of

a January Winter. How unfair that

you had to leave in Winter, while

I’m forced to endure the Summer.

I wish for the numbing cold to

overtake and force my thoughts to

cease, if only for a fleeting second.

In great timeless uncertainty, I 

would forgo what compels me now,

and feel your absence for what it

must be… Perhaps I’m overly selfish,

concerned with my meager place,

while those nearest to you feel a 

shared intensity hardly fathomable.

They must embrace your lifeless 

presence, that inarguable truth making

up the whole of your death. Here, 

I can only picture you abstractly. 

I’m unable to make out your face 

and shape. How you remain presently 

I cannot know. To me, you once were,

and now, you are not. You’ll be missing,

the only consolation being the words

of those who knew you as I couldn’t.

I must accept them as concrete.

However, I will never truly know.