Thirty-Five Years Later He Was Gone

Thirty-five years later he was gone,
Leaving her with just an empty hole
Where once her life had been. Bereft of meaning,
She rode the ancient fury of her grief.
So many years of loving him, a garden
Dissolved into a wild, wasted sea!
So much of life now waiting to be buried,
Poisoned, lying putrid in her heart!
And yet she could do nothing for awhile
But lie upon her bed of writhing pain,
Knowing that in time she would be healed,
But never, never quite completely whole.
Always there would be this frozen anger
Waiting to be placed upon the table.
No matter her attempts to be forgiving,
She would again consume that bitter meal!
And even in the sunshine of her laughter,
Her life returned to her by time and love,
Even in the meadows of her joy,
There still would be the place he left behind.
Twenty-Two Years Later They Were Dead
Twenty-two years later they were dead
And nothing was resolved, nor would it be.
Life, as is its wont, had gone ahead,
But both of them, though freed, were never free.
Both remarried, loved, fell ill, and died,
Buried separately, with space reserved
For those who mourned them most, the two outside
What once was home but could not be preserved.
What bitterness and blame, forgiveness, rage,
Guilt, shame, fury, impotence, and sorrow
Sloshed against the walls of each's cage,
A storm that never yielded to tomorrow.
How beautiful and sad, the love of youth
That, though it could not last, outlasts the truth.
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