Why?


I’ve written this obituary too many times to count now
I keep saying it’s done
it’s done…
it’s done…
it’s done…

I’m in love with a ghost
I don’t know the how’s and the why’s and the wherefores
Only that whatever once was
isn’t anymore

No wake
No funeral
No headstone
Just a bride who lost her husband at sea
To torments gone unrecorded

I only know he is gone
And nothing of him remains
Except what I’ve committed to memory
And a phantom that assumes his shape occasionally to walk the streets of New York

Let it be done
Let the light go out
I’ve kept the home fires burning long enough

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