The Silence

The Bones creak like bamboo in the wind

Age is what became of this man

He’s standing outside in the harsh winter of December,

His joints are ruined with arthritis and his feet ache with gout

And even at old age he takes in what life has to offer

Because he knows when it’s his time, he has no choice but to go

He enjoys the melancholy of his life

It reminds him that even in happiness there is pain

He stands in front of the grave with roses in hand and says

“It’s been two years since you’ve passed.”

Although she can’t hear him, the silence is some what comforting

He tries to find words to say

Words are skinned and numbed by too many bricks

He doesn’t mind the loneliness because he knows his heart was only for her

When he mumbles under the wind those three words;

He knows the intensity of what they mean,

Even if it falls short of what he really wants to say

He doesn’t think his love for his wife will ever measure up to the years they spent

Because he believes the priest was wrong and death doesn’t part them,

And life is only temporary

And when he places the rose on the base of the grave

He knows its time to go home,

And return to the same house where they both once lived;

To lie in bed on the right side because she always took the left,

And sleep with comfort that she was there once