Tread Softly, Cause you tread on my dreams!
-Yeats
I was passing by the town in rage,
where my innocent youth had gathered age.
And there I saw a broken hut,
the place where I met her first.
The door held a broken nameplate,
What once held both our names,
Had her half missing on the slate,
Memories- Fallen, broken, forgotten.
As I opened the wooden door,
Innocent memories escaped with the creak,
The old, diseased memories just glanced at me,
And again went back to being, unrecognizing me.
I walked up to the one awake,
Her eyes open, she glanced at me,
I knew those eyes, my mother's tide,
She saw me smile and cry within,
She closed her eyes and quietly died.
I walked to what was a kitchen once,
My wife's memory lay waiting sick,
Shivering in cold, burning in fever,
With trembling hands, she reached for mine.
And with a quiet wail, she quit her life.
I walked to the small broken wooden bed,
There she lay, my daughter's smile,
She rose gently, hugged and pitied me,
And with a sigh, she laughed, one final time.
I walked to the tired window,
The glass pane where we drew our dreams,
On rainy days & cold nights,
All cracked like flowing tears,
The once beautiful view outside,
With my rage, I had wiped all clean.
I am left alone in the house,
All memories now perished and died,
In rage, I had left behind,
My solitary chance at life.
I dug my weathered garden all night,
Where my little dog was buried,
One by one, I carry each memory,
Soul quietly wailing, I bury them deep.
Now I stand to face the ugly mirror,
Trying to cry, trying to hide,
Not one memory to mourn for me,
I now fall alone and my existence died.
I shall never Rest in Peace!