I didn’t know it would end like this, she said, and died.
The ring I gave her more that 60 years ago
clipped cruelly from her swollen hand.
Her body, from the bed, to the morgue, to the flame
to me, in a box heavy with grief.
I didn’t know it would end like this–
the love we shared, the lives we built . . .
in a box, to the grave, on the 24th
on a day we should have celebrated birth.
Hail and farewell, my love. I’ll see you when I sleep.
24 August 2015
like a comet through the Dark Ages
vanished round the rim of the world…
left three lives in its trail…
questions scattered like dust
in the wake of its passing
answers to some best left unasked.
Now I know love leaves you open,
waiting, bared for the wound.
Nothing gained without giving
yes, that’s the way of it.
I understand less than I ever did
but had the sense to quit asking.
Questioning’s an endless noughts and crosses,
the game that never ends…
the thing’s to feel
grasp the nettle, forget the pain
Move Closer To The Flame.