Scenes from Series
Stirs of Whispers fill my head as I brush past the dying grass, the bare trees scratching white against the blue sky.
My hand is filled with posies; your favorite, I remember everything. I remember it all, five years later. The black iron bars blocking you from the street, the weeping chimera trees, and me, unable to get to you, a season too late.
Damn it this was supposed to be different; we were supposed to last. My mind is anguish; hell personified.
I fall to my knees at the foot of your grave. It's so lonely; only your family and I stop by; only the four of us seem to stand still, lost in a world of grief for you, lost in a century of loneliness, aching with every fiber of my being.
Is it possible to love more? Is it possible to hurt less?
I weep, unashamed, caressing your headstone like a forgotten fabric. I know the letters, the words, the aching meaning separating us for years to come.
Louis Mucciolo
1971-1998