The Third Time We Met

I opened the door, before your knock came. Admitting I took humour, you meant not to know my name. You stood in awe, just outside the threshold; Unsure. Unsure of being unsure, of my willing concur. With the last care I possessed, I welcomed you through the door. Whispered condolences begun, riding lost tears falling forever more. No superficial shroud to gaze upon, or to fill with guilt this day. Only a bag of ashes remained of the man, that lived to make my spirit know it was ok. These increased meetings of our paths, taught a hard lesson true. That is, love turns death selfish and mortally, consumes all reality in que. Any reality accompanied happiness, I ever hoped to have had, I now grip tightly against my chest. Dead and gone, gone with my dad. I stood.. With Death, for the third time..... And barely felt his presence.