On Loss

The word loss leaves us, even as it is spoken

The affects bereave us, even as we continue

The time following we grieve for the broken

What was, has been taken

What is, has been shaken

The path onwards is bleak

The path onwards is bright

The shape of optimism is such that we can be blind

The shape of optimism is such that it holds inside

That which we wish to keep

That which we wish to protect

The permanence of structure, the ephemeral state of thought

What can be said for the end of what ought to have been evergreen

What can be done for that which should have endured as was thought

We can only go forth, we can only move on

As we pick up the pieces of what was dashed

From our hands bringing us to an abashed state

As the plate that we ate from is shattered

As what we once carried does not matter to the road

The road goes ever on, and the loss it does follow

But should we wallow in the pit of despair

Rather we should pay attention to that which is fallow

The time we take each day leads to the unseeded land

The unseeded land that loss cannot take away