Writing...

So sometimes I write things that aren't blog posts or work-related pieces...

This poem sort of crept out of nowhere... I think it's OK and I felt like sharing it...

There is fury in your dying
You open your arms to the next step
As if it were a lover
You look toward what's to come
As if it were a prize
And I watch powerless and afraid
Feeble in the face of your new companion

Raindrops beat on the window
I lean against the cold glass
Fingers tapping back at the rain
And the smell of dirt in my eyes
Moving with these tears
Useless. Wasted. Tears.
Because they won’t heal
They won’t cleanse
They won’t make you be again

Your skin is icy, white
My cheek pressed against the breast
That holds your halted heart
How can you be gone
I can still feel you
Laughing, singing, being
In the vast corral of memory
A gleaming speck that is the world

Now is after
Here is in the wake of
Before is something I have in dreams

There is fury in your dying

Your arms around the next step

And I look toward what's to come
As if it were a prize