What Becomes of What Remains?

A clock ticks,

a ball drops,

and fire kisses the

lips of the sky

as lovers kiss on the sidewalk.

It is the hour of dreams

and hopes,

plans and purposes,

love… and its ending.

The rain comes now,

to wash the day’s revelry

away.

In the deluge I stand,

renewed, alive,

and oh-so-very-cold

from a longing, and absence

undefined.

The sand is warm,

the ocean pulls at it like

a child pulls its blankets up

when the monsters come.

What becomes of what remains?

I hold the warm sand,

but I can’t keep it from

slipping through

my fingers

like a fading dream.

What becomes of what remains?

The sliding sand

seeks its own

and leaves me powerless.

What becomes of what remains?

Of us?

Love is lost in the rubble,

engulfed by flames,

curling in on itself.

It will be reborn another day,

unknown to us, and if it tarries long enough,

unseen by us.

What becomes of what remains?

A history unlearned from,

a human sea of sadness,

or something far better,

and visible on the horizon?

How close can we come to it

without being burned?

What becomes of what remains?

We decide.

And we depart

And travel on

to find out

the answer.