Wonderful Men Die

Wonderful men die.

Their wives are forever indebted.

Turning pain and suffering into love and memory,

Yearning to deep appreciation,

Light, into the little remainder at the close of the day.

You were my way.

I was yours.

You opened doors,

I struggled,

but latched on and loved you always.

To what lengths will the heavens go

into turning doom into room to fly

Leaving me behind searching

for what it was that brought me here.

It is unfinished.

It is not new.

Come from the essence of a star.

We held hands in the explosion.

Our chemicals were the same;

Complex reminders of ourselves.

You,

are in my tears

and see I hold them back,

keeping them in me,

pools of memory

I don’t know if i’s good for me.

Tomorrow I dine with someone

You would not like at all

Her mind is coffee wine and a touch of salt.

A combination stone with words that do not heal but tear apart the very veins of the constant soul.

She mistrusts everyone while holding herself in high esteem.

I will not be with her soon.

We can be happy then.

Amen.