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.