In ’92 the unthinkable happened
And fate took away half of his soul.
His only reason for living,
Slipped away and left him alone.
The tears tumbled, as the evening mist came down
And were still falling the next morning,
As the sun burnt off that last of the dew
And the feeling of falling and falling
And never landing, or breaking his bones,
Left him nevertheless broken,
Inconsolable, bereft and apart from the world.
Ten years later, he lived a new life,
Glued together from the ashes of the old.
He lived and he loved but the hole in his heart,
Grew larger and festered and he only forgot
When he took solace in contacts both empty and cold.
Fate then took pity and offered him the chalice,
Filled with the poison that had worked before
And he felt whole again but only by knowing,
That through the white door, was the love he’d lost,
Who’d waited, watched and bided his time,
Because of need for each other, no matter the cost.
Fate’s final card was to rescue the living
And prevent him from dying and reuniting,
With what he thought was the key to his life.
The drugs gave him strength and started him fighting
To drive out his demons and rebuild his soul.
He learned to live for the exact same reasons that
Before he’d wanted to die.
He pasted his love, his grief and his memories
On pages of living and growing and encouraging men,
To understand that life can have purpose,
When all seems so dark and hope looks out of reach.
Now Fate gave him a talent to inspire and delight
And his lost love could see from beyond the mist,
That he was loved even more and this was right.
Helping the living regain their lives,
Reversed the desire to reunite in death.
Where for so long the survivor wanted nothing more
Than to hold his lover in lifeless arms,
The roles were reversed and the ghost returned,
To uplift his partner and give him strength,
As he battled to help men as troubled as he.
Both saw that death is too final; life holds so much more.