The Giftgiver's Requiem
The measure of a man is everything a storybook forgets.
It is tender affection that is cautious and guarded,
a most particular loyalty unrequitted by patience and time–
that point when a man allows his devotion to become fossil:
a beautiful tribute that lays underground,
a dormant reminder of what-was-wished
to the rare adventurer who might stumble on its resting place.
So too is it the romance he refuses to speak,
in favor of the somber music of a heart
burnt unsightly black
while turning coal to diamonds.
It is an empty whistle, and it echoes
in his footsteps, wherever he goes.
His epitaph is anithesis–
he lets go of the edge
with no goodbye and no confession,
as though something more profound is said
in the silence of his fall.