I can’t believe your dead, its still unreal it seams
I wake with scattered thoughts; it seams your still with me
I saw a broken window, on a car I used to drive.
Windshield now scarred red, with remnants of your life
A tattered scar is torn, asphalt painted tire
A soul is left to morn, the same to build a pyre
Imbibe you once did do, two hours before the deed
Crimson now paints red the ashes of your seed
Two men came to me an hour before I woke,
With uniform aplenty I knew before they spoke.
That she would not come home, of her own volition
The duality of two things that found “their”ignition
Something told her not, to read between the lines
And it didn’t really matter just how many times.
She passed undaunted through the kismet of her life
only to find the end a double sided knife
though this she loved more than me
I will never lay blame from this to thee
And seeing thee in shame and sorrow
I know without doubt that on the morrow
When “Time” has come to ask his penance,
And “Past” will stand to give his senteence.
When “War” will sit, and kneel at his blade
And “Destiny” throws his book to the glade
When “Despair” can at last stop and swollow
A “Dream” of one that has been borrowed
From “Delerium” of those unknown of sorrow
Then “Death” will finally have to follow
The “Son” of one that has been hallowed.
Copyright © Ryland Matthews