I cannot wake you from this darkness,
or lift the weight from your mortality.
It is neither mine to grant or dispense,
albeit I am the same thread and weave.
Perennially you have traversed my sea,
across the expanse where men deceive.
You have crossed the divide too soon,
yet I may touch you - you will not feel.
You are beyond our winter be it noon,
cold February in corruption unabated.
For a moment, you are warm and real,
in your soft hand is every truth related.
The fire of your heart shall not retire,
not in death, not in distance or despair.
Beauty eternal shall not fail to inspire,
nor the black tresses your countenance.
The miles are difficult, the reward fair,
for truth and hope, a daily sustenance.
There is no song in death, or pleasure,
giving meaning, as time stands eternal.
Their buried life, buries their treasure,
cold beneath this earth, below the sun.
Love bears darker burdens, nocturnal,
recalling victory before a battle is won.
Brian Francis Hudon
February 19, 2013
(revised February 19, 2016)