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Brewing Storm

I am angry at you
for the way
you stripped me bare
of my soul,
of half my life,
the better half of me.

I want to smash
the photographs,
all other mementos
of our dreams.
They mean no more
to me
than dryer lint,
or dust caught
in cobweb strands.

I rip your picture
from gilded frame,
prepare to
tear it into shreds,
I kiss sweet lips,
try to brush
a stray red strand
from haunting eyes.

You promised
you would be at my side
until life
faded from our eyes,
but you lied,
and now it’s I
who must face
a future
tormented by
a broken promise,
a gulf of emptiness.

I rummage through
dresser drawers,
scatter our life
upon the bedroom floor,
smash what can be smashed.

Our son’s words,
my sons words,
“Don’t worry dad,
she is in a much better place,”
cannot, will not ever erase,
the pain that eats
all hope away,
the pain that lingers
through the long, long days.
I wish I lay beside you
in your cold, cold grave.

I throw myself
upon our bed,
try to remember
the last words you said.

How I miss the way
you use to keep me warm.
As tears weal in reddening eyes.
I press your pillow tight,
and surrender to the might,
to the all consuming power
of the brewing storm.

Please be kind and share this poem, because a poem not shared is a poem that becomes lost. Thank you.

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