Her voice of guilt comes on breezes blown through windows
I have not the strength to close
I stuff fingers in my ears to block the mocking sound
Yet she, unrelenting, follows there, always knowing where I can be found
On golden days with sunshine glowing when all the world seems right
She bothers not to cease this torment, only whispers to her delight
Lies, untruths, accusing blame for all she never had
It’s not my fault her life was less, not my fault she was always sad
I stand here now above her grave an offering of flowers as a way to say
I wish her peace and hope she rests, perhaps has found her way
To a place where her empty heart can heal, that she has found far better days
I turn away, but she calls me back still determined to blame another
For a life unfulfilled and the not good enough headstone upon which is written
Only a solitary word ….
More by this Author
For my readers who have been following the "I Still Look For You" memoir, this is a peek at the final chapter. I don't know of an author who didn't see the end coming to their own story, but this happened to...