Upon A Death
Upon a death, the days that follow
render aspirations hollow
removed from me the inner core
he is gone for ever more.
Upon a death, it seems not real
God help me please, I must not feel
for if I do, I’ll break apart
and that’s why ice is in my heart.
Upon a death, this thing called grief
is two parts guilt and one relief
sadness in my hearth accrue
his presence in my soul imbue
And so I walk the rest of days
distracted now in many ways
but every now and then-the lance
I would have liked a second chance.