Abandonment

It takes many forms and shapes, this wasteful human trait,
possibly some trick of genetics or cruel a twist of culture,
that causes us to discard from our hands, objects to their fate.

Hither from nothing it all has come, unto nothing it all will go,
with three words reality exploded into being, and with three words it will implode,
all of the totality of the universe, tells me this is so.

But we humans are so dynamic, vain, arrogant and driven like this to be, 
creative and contemplative when we allow ourselves to think,
of the paint peeling off our objects under the punishment of sun and sea.

From the simple wooden boat left forlorn upon the shore,
to the crumbling facades of concrete and steel, dying slower that us,
to the rusting shape of a car in the desert, to be driven never more.

For from dust we are made, and to dust we must return,
that divine spark is all we hope is eternal, even void of proof upon mortal expiration,
the chemically induced reactions that result, in a metaphysical discern.

But no matter what the object be, be it flesh or wood or metal or plastic,
we create and use and consume to our so called hearts content,
glutting ourselves until a replacement arrives or our ador wanes, then mutter out "fantastic!"

Discarding the used object, usually in a another meant to hold our waste,
no true second thoughts are had, as the contrary hunger unholy demands it,
we gorge ourselves beyond our fill, until we actually forget the taste.

And so the cycle never ending yet never established and obscured from the eyes to see,
lets us consume all like the void we vagely ignore, the full yet empty that spawned we,
you drop and discard yet again unfeeling, abandoning this time, me.

She Wasn't There

She wasn’t there for the meeting,

The rivalry.

The unity.

The jokes.

The stories.

The creation.

The process.

The journey.

The discoveries.

The adventures.

The laughter.

The joy.

I was there, with you, beside you all the way, sharing the highs and lows, marveling at you, supporting you, sharing the burden, pulling at the yoke right beside you.

She wasn’t there for the hard times,

The dark times.

The struggle.

The cold.

The work.

The sacrifice.

The pain.

The fights.

The tears.

The loss.

She wasn’t there, until very recently, swooping in like an owl in the darkness before dawn, talons 

sinking in slowly but surely, tearing away life from flesh, but I always was.

She wasn’t there.

Until now.

But now, neither are you.