the francour frontier

Two mountains unfold before my very eyes
From low midpoint outwards to twin peaks in the skies

Then back around again to each form a large mound
I must only assume they continue under ground

and meet at the centre line to complete the shape
The splendour of the sight makes my mouth gape

This berg is analogy made out of earth
Symbolizing a feeling I felt with great girth

Now you might enquire as to the tense of that verb
or about why my head rests in my hands on this curb

To illuminate that query I require a euphemism here
Consider the stalagmite, a crystalline spear

The manner in which it formed was surely precise
Great pressure and heat would not merely suffice

A sudden distancing of the closeness of nearby soil
Will depressurize the cavern, unravel the atomic coil

Forming a structure as brittle as glass
A nail-set which is placed at center mass

Takes but one tap upon the ball peen
In slow motion, a chain reaction may be seen

First a small crack, like lightning, appears
Then others accrue, as tightly knit peers

A tough way to learn that this gem was real
Like checking for gas leaks with a candle near the seal

Or finding out that the U-235 was pure
Only as critical mass is achieved are you sure

But by then it’s too late to say your vows
And too late for small cities or unscathed eyebrows

What I’m trying to say my dear francour
Is that I LOVED you, of that I am sure

But now with this loss of your kind, sweet face
My heart was speeding at too quick a pace

Something inside me broke on day sixty-nine
Today is June twenty-three and I am not fine