A portion of me probes
Your unsatiated intent,
Searching for the reasons
Of such quick witted descent.
Wouldn’t the forthcoming
Of ceaseless gratuitous surges
Cause one to remain motionless.
Would you really have simply left,
Without having wet your hunger
With the form that you swore you adored,
Without listening to the heralded echoes
Designed to inflate your already inflated ego.
I ponder how you’d leave,
Lover of art, truth, love, and grief,
With your curiosity piqued,
Without having heard your unsung worship,
Without having read your exalted narrative.
Was it because
I don’t know enough.
Was it really love
That you desired
Or didst thou merely seek
To see thyself donned in glory.
The lies you spelled
Of how Love was the answer,
Away from me.
He reveled in the beauty of his lovers,
Of the marvels of the earth,
The treasures of the universe,
The offspring life birthed.
He saw beauty;
How does one who sees,
Decide to cease
Ambling down paths
Was the trek so cruel and sick
That he’d simply leave
With reckless abandon.
Was there nothing
That could press him
To maintain cognition.
I don’t know how much he was hurting.
But he could have been lying.
It could have been
The purpose of poetry.
The first time he vanished from the earth
I prayed to the gods; they answered with mirth
The heavens smiled, showed me great fortune;
Desperately I searched, though my soul, tortured,
I’d hold my head in my hands, and by chance,
Or dedication, or maybe it had been planned,
I heard him ask a question. While I was swept
Over by indecision, I wavered, incessantly, I kept
Putting it under examination. I’d leave it to faith;
With unhindered determination he’d reach the place
He wanted to be. Grains of sand slithered downwards,
I started to worry; apprehension surged me forward,
Responding to lost time, I gave him a particle;
“I have been searching”; just in case it mattered.
But I remain uncertain, will I, without the help
Of the sovereign, be able to hear his voice again.
If he isn’t dead.