Long time gone

the moving years




there wasn’t a hangman’s noose

of which you couldn’t make good use

I wish I didn’t know so well

the darkness where you used to dwell

a suicide and grief filled hell

but now we reach the number twelve

I’m going to put that day aside

like an unopened envelope for a stranger at another address

a pretense where my feelings hide

but I cannot lie the truth away

I still marvel that it feels the same

when all you said has come undone

and I recall your setting sun

as 11,10,9,8,7,6,5,4,3,2

and 1


Author: valo

I am a poet, writer and activist with a special interest in human rights for children and women as well as the elimination of poverty worldwide. If you read this today, feed someone locally for me will you? Drop off a non perishable food item at the food bank nearest you and consider yourself hugged. Thank you!

8 thoughts on “Twelve”

    1. Thank you Denise 🙂 My husband died twelve years ago now and the manner of his death was no surprise. I clung to the hope that he wouldn’t really be successful even though I’d found him a few on three separate occasion in the thirteen years we were married. I think I loved him for both of us and when he did kill himself I felt like a failure even though he told me it would happen because he needed to die and find peace. More than anyone he altered the course of my life in ways I could never have imagined and would never wish on anyone.

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