Fleeting

Cold, tempting… tentative touch…
His eyes, speaking of a fiery spirit,
Now muted by sorrow…
So willing to die…
Tears threaten to fall as I reach for his hand.
Unmoving...
His lips—slightly parted… cool.
The pale sickle moon,
Veiled by a thin whisper of clouds.
He stands atop the ledge,
A colorless corpse in the dying moonlight.
It won’t be long now.
He smiles—
Small…
Fleeting…
I squeeze his hand.
He brings mine to his lips.
They are chilling.
A tear slips down my cheek.
No…
The black heavens are fading,
Becoming a dull blue.
Morning…
I moan in desperation.
It won’t be long…
He caresses my cheek,
Wiping the tear away…
Cold, tempting… tentative touch…
The world shall weep with his passing.
And, as the sun rises—
An explosion of fire and life—
So too does he.
A dazzling blue blaze…
And only seconds later…
Nothing…
Gone…
And the world wept.