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Elegy for Robin Williams

Something profound is gone
for Robin Williams

There’s nothing profound to say when something is gone,
the words begin and then end before they are born,
the laughing children pause and tilt their heads,
listening for that breath the universe chose to hold.

There’s nothing profound to say when something is gone,
they light candles, invoke prayers, become smoke and wax,
they sob into pillows and watch old films and sigh,
they stand on tables and reach into the sky, trying to pull it back.

There’s no madness so profound as something that is gone,
an ache that begins like a lump in the throat and travels down,
a sadness with hurt so deep it escapes through an open mouth,
a barbaric yawp grown hoarse from sounding on rooftops alone.

There’s no madness so profound as something that is gone,
every room is haunted, especially the self, the room without walls,
every passing moment a gravity condensing cells into moons,
a body overburdened with weight, but unwilling to fall.

There’s nothing profound to say when something is gone,
the words begin and then end before they are born,
the songs unwritten will remain unsung,
there’s just madness, that little spark of madness we keep.

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