2/17/11

It is my earnest wish that all black suits,

Should be sewn out of paper, not of cloth,

So that they may be burned after each use,

And serve not as reminders of our loss.

All fibers become soiled with pain and grief,

Which ride our backs as heavy burdens fall,

From their dark charge, allow they be released,

Lest bitter, mournful, moments be recalled.

Let garments not absorb our miseries,

Then lay wait in our closets, ghoulishly.

2/16/11

Today, I have lost everything,

And yet, I am a wealthy man.

Today, I feel grief’s ache and sting,

And yet, I am a wealthy man.

I’ve lost my father and my friend,

And yet, your life will stay with me.

I shall not sit with you again,

And yet, you shall remain with me.

All that you gave is mine to keep,

And make my own as I go forth,.

You shall not fade, you shall not sleep,

I speak your name with no remorse,

I hold you close, and always will, 

In all I do and who I am.

I loved you then, I love you still,

For this, I am a wealthy man.