What was not to be

Even the smallest of hills
probably start out to match
the Everest, in impetuous audacity.
Even the smallest of mountain streams
surely starts out to match
the length and prosperity of the Nile,
or the spiritual salvation the Ganges brings.
Every star wishes to cause a supernova.
Every wind wishes to raise a storm.
Every green shoot out of the forest floor
dreams to dwarf the large matriarch
and reach for light.
Every ripple in the ocean has the possibility
to become the tsunami.

But not all of them do.
Not all.

Some die for lack of light.
Some stop glowing.
Some just stop flowing.

The undercurrent,
the tectonic love that propels these wishes
and aspirations
stop moving or just stop being.

Is that what happened to you and me?
I don't know.
But I know what's not to be
                  is not to be.

Instead of riding the crest of the hill
on that wave of tectonic love
to match the top of the world,
we now face the chasm that opens between us.
Still though, there are memories
that will guide us as we face this chasm.

I remember your kisses caused
a thousand stars to morph into
a thousand supernova.
The stream of your love
washed away my exhaustion.
The seedling of our love
didn't get to tower over the whole forest.
But it rose, it grew, it blossomed
in that light and shade.
The wind of your emotions
raised a storm of tears in my mind
and I watched enthralled
the beauty of your tidal surge as it overpowered me.

So, despite the chasm,
despite the stream never reaching the ocean,
I remember fondly
the promise they all held.
These memories darken my horizon
and rain down on me
as I watch you walk away.

----

In remembrance of my wonderful years with Fern.