Compassion Is the Final Stage of Grief

the months have dragged their feet past mine

each moment a decade longer

than the one before

the coldness of forgotten words

over tea with old friends

each time your spirit encounters mine

I’m reminded

of memories we created together

of those that you created alone

but invited me to

of your long legs moving no where

of mine planted firmly in nothingness

the silence of a man

who has never known it

and a quietness that’s too still

the smile that’s gifted to me

because anger was overpriced

you fight and serve in no war against me.

or of any class you say rules yours.

nostalgia is the disease that sickens you