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Rated: E · Poetry · Death · #1960025
Six months after my dad died . . . .
The Whole You Left

When I start rememb'ring— bam, the pain!
It weighs me down, a ball and chain.
Recollect the last days with you,
the pain remains, piercing through.

I hope to transcend my recent loss,
and if enlightened, I’d just shrug and toss.
But it lives on, hurting me, always there,
just waiting for the right nerve to be bare.

But then I recall what you once said,
"let's save our regrets for the past, and the dead.
but for the living, give them love and thus bread,"
And this helps me reconcile you in my head.

For I will tend this broken heart,
always there, hurting, but ready to start,
the same heart that holds this love and soul,
filled with fondness; fit to fill this hole.

So I think back to before your cancer,
and give my childhood one more chance, or
think of the times that you made me whole,
while your love and honor become my goal.
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