Loss

Loss is a quiet word

sliding slowly

off the tongue

tied to it

a silence follows

 

made finite

only by the

presence of it’s

predecessor

 

a redefining force

in this war

of attrition

 

as today

slips into

tomorrow’s clothes

 

time’s light glares

off the mortal coil

 

the future

sharpens it’s claws

 

it’s mouth watering

over the past

 

a stock

shivering

before the beast

 

their dance

is endless

 

the last of it’s kind

 

we are left

naked in the wings

 

watching a show

we will never lead

 

understudies to understanding

 

slack jawed

in awe

of the whole mess

 

as the orchestra

plays laughter

from the pit

 

the audience

buries us all in flowers

 

long before

the final curtain