A transcendentalist poem about moving on when it’s absolutely impossible to do so.


I coincidentally wrote this poem on September 11th, 2016, after not writing any poetry since my grandfather’s death in May.




I was a wave cascading against crags,

and I became mist near the ocean’s shore.


I long for the rain to pour forth

and wash away all that I am.

I long for the rainbow to appear

and bring back all that I was.

I long for the clouds to obscure

and obliterate all that I have become.


A numbness it is to no longer desire feeling;

without light, a fading memory is even less than a shadow.


I am an ash.

Once a bright flame,

no embers remain in me.

The breeze calls me to dissipate.

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