Lament for a Puppy
#2 of Poems
A friend of mine lost his dog a year ago now, and talking with him on Skype, I spontaneously wrote a poem. I'm not sure if it helped him, but it meant something to be able to connect at least. This is for Buffy, forever a puppy.
Memories are the best of us, what remains when we are gone. Memories are the cherished moments, the happy tears. Memories. Those remnants of time gone by that signify what it means to be, and what it means to continue on.
Time conquers all. Against this none can stand. Yet we fight every moment, driven by a purpose that none can tell. Lost in the currents and eddies, we often forget what it simply means to be.
The smaller ones, the treasured ones, do and doth and connot. They flit from moment to moment, revelling in their life. In an existence of meer fractions, slivers and hearbeats, they call to us by our secret names.
In this sliver of an inch in the great span of time, we meet them. Seeking friendship, affection, and all the rest, we share and gain alike.
We fill our span with all the world until it overabounds, but none can fight the pull of time.
An end approaches; a shadow falls, and in this fime we stand together, even as one must fall.
How, what fall silent. Who and why remain.
The hammer falls and the bell tolls, but the somber sound brings joy. But none alive to hear its sound can hold their tears for long.