Mourn

Photo by Grant Whitty on Unsplash

Lost a friend, a friend indeed.
Thought skin as hide, thought is what was seed.
Rain concealed small fragments of leaking self, sometimes a ravenous need.
Yearn for breath of air as fresh as summit breeze.
Plead wind to break like halt to galloping of a fleeing steed.
Guilt not knowing more of your naked soul, left innocent but us unwhole.
Was it man’s role? Necessary to leave us with this gaping hole?
Died on your terms or another?
Could you not grow old and children father?
Your will and memory my own until I pass.
Lives delicate as cotton at the mercy of the windy acts of thoughtlessness and crass.
Until we meet in heavenly wide fields of grass.