Different opinions,
ways of living life;
too much water
under the bridge.
Unable to visit, not
wanting to see him;
he’s not the Father
you idealised, loved.
Years passed, water
passed, life passed;
no time felt right to
go and visit, talk.
You felt it before it
came; a knowing;
a death too quick
for you to digest.
He danced with
death deliberately
on his own; no time
to give anyone time.
You made your peace
with him on the telephone;
he said he has beautiful
children, then the guilt.
Another Ibrat for you to
understand, to learn from;
sitting here looking at
his box filled with ashes.
C & K 