Life is now just a conundrum of dates
A caustic reminder, of events.
The nuptials on a fourth
That joyous fourth, when the stork flew in
With my pink toed petal soft precious bundle
And, that harrowing morning of fourth
When the sun set upon sunrise
And my life crumbled in a miserable heap.
Yet again on a fourth, I stood there stony and lifeless
Where she lay frozen, not in peace.
Oh! How I crave a flame from the fire that incinerated her pyre
To singe me too, turn me into a glowing pile of ash.
It wasn’t her time to go. It wasn’t his what he took
That coward messenger of fatality who took her away
Why doesn’t he come fetch me?
I’m after all, just a body too, that is sanguine no more.
In this mausoleum where I now remain
I dread, the fourth of each passing month
For they are only a grim reminder
Of the many bygone fourths that I yearn to relive and retrieve
Alas! Life has no back up.