It starts... like a tremulous wall of glass it builds,
Rising slowly, this sheet of convoluted emotions,
It breaks the surface, hovering, tottering at the edge,
Waiting for the welcome release held in a sudden tremor of the senses.

Then suddenly it dives, gracefully, dipping like a swan,
Its descent a diamond encrusted tale of woes,
Its glistening trail a blissful cyanide-laden tale
Of secrets told in broad daylight and treasures unveiled in the dark.

Faster and faster it rolls, along with a scattering of others,
Together in their significance, alone in their sojourn,
Each contour a hidden refuge, a solace for the weary traveler,
Each line an engraved dirge, an immortalized song of songs.

Then slowly it falls, a crystalline goblet of lost possibilities,
Silently melting into the river below,
Nothing but an insignificant ripple in a salty sea,
Soon to be forgotten, never to be forgiven.

Ceaselessly this ruptured dam flows,
For each leak that mends a thousand spring forth,
Within each salty crystal, a single thought echoes...
I was wrong my darling, I do have tears for you.

The day draws to a close and I find myself brooding, feeling forlorn and empty. I find myself experiencing something akin to the pain and emptiness I felt not so long ago, when you visited and took with you my dear friend Charles. Today, I hear you have visited again, and this time you took the sibling of a friend to go on that endless trip with you, through eternity. As I write this I am trying to offer words of comfort to him monsieur, but I am flailing and grasping and finding none. I struggle for the words and find none because I know that nothing I say or do will make it all better. I can't do much, only offer words that mean nothing and say even less. All I can do is say “I'm sorry”. What hurts the most monsieur, is that I know what my friend is going through. I know the pain and numbness, the speechlessness and the grief, the anger and the denial. I know it all too well and yet; cannot do a thing about it. I am at this point a useless friend sir, and all because of you.

So I ask you monsieur, why? Why are your visits so sudden? Your entrances so rude and abrupt? You come with no warning and take without asking. Without so much as a courteous "Please” or “May I?" you snatch away years of happiness, effortlessly replacing them with inimitable hollowness. You never seek permission, you never apologize. It would be nice you know, if you were courteous enough to give one fair warning instead of barging in so unceremoniously. You could give people a chance to tie up some loose ends monsieur, is there really a need for this insensitivity? All these abysmal buckets of saltwater shed hourly for chances that are lost forever, is there a need for this white hot rage against you? Why let people spend the rest of their lives mourning a chance they'll never have, when you could simply let them bid a loved one au revoir properly? I hear no answers monsieur Grim, have you no response?

So many endless questions, I could go on forever. However, I know they will still go unanswered because in addition to being rude and abrupt Mr. Reaper, you are also notoriously silent . You never afford one a polite answer or even a terse reply, you just swoop in and take and greedily take and never give back! Nothing fazes you, nothing affects you, be they insults or pleas or rage or tears, you walk away unaffected. I wonder if, when you visit and snatch me away, you will be as silent as you are now. I wonder if you would even deign to respond to the endless diatribes I will no doubt hurl at you because, make no mistake about it monsieur, I will not come with you without a fight! Your visits are a sordid affair and I wish to have no part in them. But unfortunately, visit you will someday, and go I inevitably must.

The sad thing about this pitiful little monologue is that it is so pointless. I am simply ranting because I am so upset. I am really not making much sense am I? Let us assume for a minute that you did ask for permission, really, would anyone say yes? "Sure why not? Here, take my mother, I don't want to let her go but just because you said please..." No one would let go! That is the awful thing about you. No matter how much one thinks one is prepared for your visit, one is never quite ready. One will continue to ask why even if one is given a thousand reasons why. I suppose it is the unchangeable fact of the "never" associated with your visits. NEVER being able to see or talk to, or interact with this loved ever again keeps the questions coming... One keeps asking why, against one’s better judgment one asks and screams, hoping against all hope for a response but knowing deep down, there will be none.

So, I reiterate, my rant is pointless. These questions I scream are a waste of good vocal strength. They have been unanswered for years and will remain so until it is time for me to meet my Maker. Maybe then He would explain to me only the way a maker could, why people have to die for no apparent reason. Yes, I suppose I'll have to wait until I trigger a stream of pointless whys aimed at the heavens to get my own whys answered. Until then I can do nothing but feel this inexplicable sense of loss, and hopelessly empathize even when I wish I couldn't. I can do nothing but continually shed bitter tears for loved ones lost and all those souls left behind in pain... in so much mind-numbing unending pain. Until I meet my Maker I can only shed tears and rant over people (or in this case, someone) whom I never even got a chance to meet.


Adieu.