Denise

How can one hope to preparefor such searing loss.Confronted by the hollow void,the bridge we all must cross.One so green, at twenty yearsrobbed of rightful time.Who can the world hope to blamefor a higher being's crime.The stolen joy, extinguished plansof all that lay ahead.The mortal coil, so tightly woundproves more like a thread.So fragile that the merest touchwill cause the thread to break.The snap reverberates in hearts'of all left in its wake.

Eight months was all I had with you,I’d envisaged so much more.A fleeting friend, yet when I heard,my mind fell through the floor.How could a life, so big and brightvanish into black.Where is that smile and boundless gleeso many others lack.

A death is not a tragedythat just the one will suffer.But borne by those left to lament,their kin, their friends, their lover.They lag behind to try to mendthe bubble that has burst.They scream at skies, demand of godswhy they did not die first.How I am here and you are notI've yet to comprehend.But I'll delve deep and conjure faiththat this was not your end.

Denise, do not lose your zealwherever you may be.And know that you will always holda little part of me.

Anon.