You write of him
Who has passed a while,
Extant now only as ash
Within a porcelain jar,

You write of the bitter
Arrogance of anger
Left unresolved and
You not released from pain,

Of these you write,
And these you feel
With such pain
Such loss,

But he IS gone!
His vitriol has no power here,
No right to use your voice
Nor fuel your rage,

Nor create in you
His reincarnate toxicity,
Your are not him
Nor ever were,

You are your mothers child
Her softness tempers his
Vile intransigence,
And you need not go there,

So let him go
Into the shades of time
And away from this reality,
And your life,

And look instead to
That which is around you,
Loves you and has your back,
For I my love

Have yet to cross the bar

And I would sail with you,
Aboard your vessel
Or in closest company,
You escort and protector,

Your lover and your very
Very best friend,
The one who has your back
The one that you can count upon,

Fifty years or so with luck
I have and you much the
very same,
Will you share mine with me,
And let me share yours,

With you?