One of the things you left behind is an abysmal silence
That stretches like a gaping and festering raw wound.
This silence echoes under the tall dome of the ceiling
That we had together designed for our beloved home.
The house you built for me still stands but the home is
No more; it went when you went taking its very soul.
Now all that remains are the concrete and brick walls.
They mock my existence, devoid of life without you.
I am also one of the things that you left behind you.
There are days when I want to rant at you, beat upon
Your chest with balled fists for deserting me in the
Golden years that we were meant to share together.
But I cannot for you are gone, truly and surely as can be
And I have to live without any will for survival or living.
My dear, of all the things you left behind, I will tend to.
But I wish that you’d taken me with you, to be with you.
Image –Nikolai Voelcker via unsplash