dark blue (a little lament)

To everything there is a season.  Sometimes small lamentations can help along the winding way way through a time to mourn.  This describes the current pain of a dear friend (upon whom, peace):

dark blue (a little lament)

Drifting ghost-like through these rooms
Gathering up all that you left behind:
Promises and passion,
Bell-like laughter,
Storybooks that now must close forever or
At least until I find a way
to catch my breath, or somehow
Rub off all your fingerprints
But now I’m not so sure

For I can stow away these pieces of
A now-past life of love we shared
(and is it really gone?
so fast and wordlessly
like Christmas trees
out on the curb?).

But somehow, even with the boxes I
cannot undo the sharpness, bumping
Into edges everywhere,
Drawers and closets full
Of fading scents
I’d thought I learned to
love so well,
In every room, all of these

Dear remainders of the mess you left behind:
Now all my walls are patchy blue.

I find of course that
all this love still lives here, love
I do not want to train
To sadly slip away, and now
I cannot clear a path through all
That’s passed between us
Cause I can’t quite see
For all this salty water in my eyes
Awash over my head
And drowning me
I can’t quite breath,
As days grow dark and cloudy with
No lighthouse left to find.

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