It was quiet strength that did you in.
Your belief that pain was simply the cost of life,
You had been crippled for so long
Leg straight and fused,
Tremors assaulting your once strong hands,
Still you coped.
You pushed through.
As if to laugh at the hand you had been dealt.
Like you were betting the house would go bust.
You fought.

You fought getting out of the your truck at the doctors office
You fought when they forced you into a sleep study
You fought when they ran a chest X-ray to rule out pneumonia
And when they said cancer
You fought

Who cares that they said Stage 4.
Cancer didn't know who it had picked its newest fight with
It didn't know your 25th wedding anniversary was two weeks away
So you fought
Because it wouldn't take this from you
You wouldn't let it,
Stubborn ******* you were.
You fought

You fought
Having purchased a card for the special day
Having it delivered by a friend
In tears she read and she knew
You had fought
And on that following day we sang you to Heaven
There was Power in the Blood
As you found Amazing Grace
And as your last breath escaped
Tooth then Lip.
I was reminded
You fought.

Perhaps love should have its own pronoun
With me being so unfamiliar with the feeling it seems that the pronoun would at least be more respectful.

Maybe it needs a more formal title
Like Mr. or Ms.?
So that I can convey my respect for it as an emotion
As well as our unfamiliarity with each other.

Should we agree on the gender as a whole?
Would it be confusing if I used them interchangeably? As in,
"Well I thought I was in Ms. Love once but it wound up only being infatuation."
Or
"I saw that she's in Mr. Love with the guy who is great at that one thing again."

Perhaps Ms. Love isn't for me to know,
It's been so long since we were introduced.
Maybe we'd hit it off next time though?
When Ms. Love and I meet face to face.
And maybe that next time we'd go for a coffee?
And then sensing her willingness perhaps a follow up meeting
Sans interview.
Where we could share stories
And utilize our first names
And then she would tell me of her dreams,
And I would interpret them for her.
Only to have her become super clingy
And ask for a ride home
And then force me to listen to hours upon hours of incessant babbling about everything and nothing at the same time.
And have her repeat the same stale story over and over and over again
Only for her to forget the ending to the only joke that she knows mid punchline.
Then again
Maybe I'll just stick to formalities,
Ms. Love.

Naked she lies
Her body tainted and bruised
cast aside by hate and demise
broken, torn, bleeding
her dreams shattered
her mind battered
discarded
forgotten
alone

Babe, there's something tragic about you
Something so magic about you
Don't you agree?

Babe, there's something lonesome about you
Something so wholesome about you
Get closer to me

No tired sighs, no rolling eyes, no irony
No 'who cares', no vacant stares, no time for me

Honey, you're familiar like my mirror years ago
Idealism sits in prison, chivalry fell on its sword
Innocence died screaming, honey, ask me I should know
I slithered here from Eden just to sit outside your door

Babe, there's something wretched about this
Something so precious about this
Where to begin

Babe, there's something broken about
But I might be open about this
Oh what a sin

To the strand a picnic plan for you and me
A rope in hand for your other man to hang from a tree

Honey, you're familiar like my mirror years ago
Idealism sits in prison, chivalry fell on its sword
Innocence died screaming, honey, ask me I should know
I slithered here from Eden just to sit outside your door

Honey, you're familiar like my mirror years ago
Idealism sits in prison, chivalry fell on its sword
Innocence died screaming, honey, ask me I should know
I slithered here from Eden just to hide outside your door