Asher matome Chipu Poet Sonnet

Echoes of what was

Is it gone, dissolved into thin air?

No, yet it falls short,
merely needed, quietly required.
Is it far beyond reach?

It is lost.

Uprooted, dislodged, cast aside,

vanished into the void, strayed far from home.

Scarcely present, desperately needed,

discarded to the winds.
Set down upon feet that are not its own,
abandoned entirely, left behind to wither.

Curled small, diminished by scarcity,

verging on non-existence,
softened by fragility and weakness.
Absent without leave,

lost along a twisted path,

pushed to the rear, left to trail behind,

taken outside and abandoned to the dark.

Absence upon absence—it is not here,

nowhere to be found beneath the skies,
unmarked in the records, unwritten in the log.
Yet once considered, once weighed as enough,

truly sufficient,

measured and perfectly complete.

It is found—it is met—

right here in this very space.
Yet he is gone, she is gone.
The waters have washed through; what was, has departed,

yearning for home, longing for where it belongs.

Never to return, never again,

borne away by shift, surrendered to abandonment,

forgotten and ignored.
One who never knew the path of learning,
no traveler on this road.

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