Loss and meanness

They are what fill
this world

Though, a few beautiful, tender moments do thrive
Though, not all of us bare witness

Moments flung into our path, spinning out sharp colors that cut the eye
Moments flung out as stars, swimming across the deep surface of a yawning midnight sky
burning against all that inky, boundless black that greedily consumes the light

Moments separated by vastness itself
and burning alone—
in sight of one another,
but void of their warmth
Drifting in a black ocean with tongues of fire that lick obsidian waves

All this loss and meanness

They push against the skin
against the shoulders
shove us into the earth

Soil broken apart beneath bare feet
the lungs fill with dust as we breathe in
as we reach out

Fingers stretched wide apart
grasping at a cluster of nearby flowers
palming petals just to smell their profound fragrance

And only a few,
So very few,

Brush with fingertips those blooms that burn bright violet
and shake without concern in the arms of a warm breeze

 

© Mike Yost