It’s difficult to remember you with clarity,

your face is but a shadow since you’ve gone,

you have left me with a feeling of emptiness, insanity

prevails as I think of you; the quick sprint in the Marathon.

You are missed as anniversaries are greeted at the back door

and the feeling of the incomplete fills my veins

the missing in life always leave a space that’s sore

I miss you in the ether now, your face, more losses, no gains.

But whose fault is it really that you are not here,

No body to bury, but you may as well be six feet under anyway.

I cannot mourn your loss for I have no idea where you are.

The fool in conversation with the young Prince Lear,

however it’s me that’s surely making sense, for you have nothing to say;

the broken promise, the missing piece, the burnt out star.

Ian D. Hall 2015