There is a slow evolution to sorrow,
as time passes, it falls from the trees, so to speak,
its color fades, and it molders,
and then disappears beneath the surface.
It dissipates, filtering through our sub-strata,
the molecules of sorrow penetrating our deep recesses,
and lodging there.
Meanwhile, life goes on, as they say.
I see the bold beauty of a sunflower and smile,
and my daily tasks I greet with gratitude;
I am thankful for this life I have been given.
But what of the lives that have been taken away,
particularly the one,
or two, that made up the fabric of our being,
whom we shared this life with as if they were our very selves?
Now they are gone,
perhaps leaving us many years ago,
or just last year, and somehow—
even though this world is still very beautiful,
and our lives are very blessed—
their absence has left a cold vacuum within us.
And when I stop for a moment from my activities,
I sense my soul gasping for air, bewildered and sighing,
confused at being left here alone.
Nothing is as it was,
and nothing can be again.
Yet still I see the vibrant color in the trees,
and the leaves as they fall.
Life is a rich tapestry,
that infuses time with brilliance—
I am stunned by its misery and its beauty.