How can one hope to prepare
for such searing loss.
Confronted by the hollow void,
the bridge we all must cross.
One so green, at twenty years
robbed of rightful time.
Who can the world hope to blame
for a higher being’s crime.
The stolen joy, extinguished plans
of all that lay ahead.
The mortal coil, so tightly wound
proves more like a thread.
So fragile that the merest touch
will cause the thread to break.
The snap reverberates in hearts’
of all left in its wake.
Eight months was all I had with you,
I’d envisaged so much more.
A fleeting friend, yet when I heard,
my mind fell through the floor.
How could a life, so big and bright
vanish into black.
Where is that smile and boundless glee
so many others lack.
A death is not a tragedy
that just the one will suffer.
But borne by those left to lament,
their kin, their friends, their lover.
They lag behind to try to mend
the bubble that has burst.
They scream at skies, demand of gods
why they did not die first.
How I am here and you are not
I’ve yet to comprehend.
But I’ll delve deep and conjure faith
that this was not your end.
Denise, do not lose your zeal
wherever you may be.
And know that you will always hold
a little part of me.