For Curt. 

 

His eyes were an offset blue,

Identical to the unyielding forces

of the tempestuous sea and the

churning influence of the clouds.

Or were they an unpolished silver,

Hued and stormy with flecks of life and purpose?

His face, swirled and irregular;

Was obscured by memories past,

unable to be distinguished

With the onslaught of trivial matters

Brought upon by mourning.

 

A brief, wistful absence of sound

Enveloped the company

With only a slight exhale of breath

Accompanying the silence as his passing was

Absorbed into the mindsets.

Droplets fell from their eyes,

Portraying the grief unable to

Be formed into terms of

endearment and confusion.

They silently wondered what

Was so pivotal that had dictated his fate.

His death.

 

No longer could they gaze into

those lucid pools, flakes of beryl caressing the

inner iris on a whim, and see their reflection

that revealed the love that they could

no longer shower him with.

A piercing cry tore through

 the soft underbelly of echoing resonance

as it’s shrill tone rang throughout

the normally tranquil area. I had no doubt

Time itself froze dead in its tracks at the wonderance

 of where it originated from.

I knew, though, for it was I that made the sound when I

learned of his death.

 

 

People curbed their tongues and curiosity as

Billowed out reactions fell in terms

Of contrition, dulled with shame

And hollow with vexation

At how one so young was put to

Eternal Rest so promptly.

An eclipse of emotions brought

forth a vivid foundation ready to

collapse at the slightest racy

whisper of thoughtlessness,

As the people were now withered

and shallow from heartbreak.

They were at a loss...

 

Did he perish on that frigid, unwelcoming floor?

Forlorn with the inconvenient truth that

he was alone and would succumb to the

afterlife with his mind as his only companion and ally?

This was what the company

consigned to the seemingly endless oblivion

of anguish and grief observed, for there

was no calming closure of his demise.

Not for me, anyways.

 

It was as if an immortal, sinking force

Had been placed upon my chest and soul,

Weighed down with anguish and

misery at our sudden loss.

Even though I was not able to partake

In his burial, I could envision

It with every minute detail

seared into my mind like a branding.

 

His viridescent mahogany eyes,

once so scintillated and filled with charismatic elation

had now transcended into a dull, faded outcrop

free from extraneous colors that I now

wish to have never graced my grieving presence.

 

The hues were to be no longer accentuated

with love and purpose, for there was

nothing left but a memory of hollow endearment.

Those revelations coursed through my

mind and dulled my senses as I wandered

The path of dejection, downcast with mournfulness

And pessimistic bitterness associated with grief.

 

His fleeting moment of existence

Caught in my throat,

For I could no longer assume

That my time on this planet

Was as worthwhile or as long

As I could ever conceptualize.

He was withheld in the

Transcendence Of time,

With only sweet kindling’s

Of fondness resurfaced

To bring about a faded memory

That some will forget about in due time.

 

As time grew older, the condensed snippets

of memories finally coaxed my withered

emotions out of its veil as I finally

paid heed to my sorrow and allowed

Myself to come to terms with grief.

 

I will forever glance at the still of a

cross-faded memory held within the confines

of my camera. It was an old screenshot,

one that I now assume would be

worn down if it were made of paper.

It was of us together, and with it came

the only happy memory that we shared.

His twinkling eyes were creased, as his

gap-toothed, dimpled smile radiated of pure

Joy and merriment that could only be captured

in a moment of blissful unawareness.

 

His round face was barely

Framed with his short, curly hair, its color hard

to distinguish because of the light.

He was slouched to the camera,

 and his face was the only seeable part of him,

 as was mine. The picture caught him mid-speech,

 as he seemed to be relaying something jovial

 and most-likely unwitty as I seemed to be screaming

heartily to the camera, eyes crinkled in

 pleasure as my face was halfway out

of the snapshot. I still chuckle

at the antics of the stilled photo

and the ones captured within it.

 

His appearance from that memory

would regularly dance into the

Frame of my mind’s eye, and I used to

push it away with bitterness and hatred for what I could

 no longer be with, yet now I allowed a low-spirited,

despondent smile to grace my face as I remembered

The best that he had to offer to this world.

 

Parted ways, sullen roads,

and an empty heartache

housed by insistent longing

kept me restless and heedful time and time again.

Darted by passing dreams and

recollections of vacant,

meaningless sentiments,

I realized that those faded azure

eyes would forever haunt me.

If only I could remember

what they looked like.