Grief

Grief

A breeze ruffles forests of hairy, green and yellow trees,
with their white trunks jutting from the cold, frozen mound.
To the South, two sets of sickle tipped hydras,
lay stiff as stone.
To the East, a pool of obsidian,
once full of reflection,
shriveled and cracked; in the sun, in the cold.
Below, the dagger of the toppled obelisk
lays split and gaping.
Friends twitter a dirge,
for lost camaraderie.
As the perpetrator looms mockingly,
a portal of light and lies.