A Tear For Its Passing

Pasadena is on fire, and my India trip was good. More on that later. But now, what should have been written two months ago, I now present:

Echoes

I am an urn.
Fat and squat.
Filled with the ashes of dreams gone by.
Stuffed with a diamond that has lost its luster.
Alone in this sill, yet surrounded by joy.
A cruel consequence of eternal life.

I am a tombstone.
Old and gray.
Preening, marking, the not-so-hallowed earth.
Where memories lay buried, beneath the soil.
Where flowers, reverence, and tears are served.
Where I alone must weather. that which life could not withstand.

I am the noose.
Flaccid and rough.
Tired, because it has been so long.
Crying, craving, that warming touch:
A human warmth, and that bittersweet caress.
Knowing, that in but a few moments, that too will pass.

RIP man, we will miss you.