There are many stories told,
In these days of perpetual woe,
And with this poem, I’ll add to them,
But in an effort to maybe show,
The tale begins in a nursing home,
Watching my wife, slowly die,
Becoming an island in this world,
Inside the question why.
I believed that love would die with her,
That I was fated to be alone,
But a broken heart can do many things,
If not ignoring what its shown,
It was a loss to all, when Eileen died,
And when you left, it was a loss to me,
And now it seems, there’s only a third,
Because this heart, is torn in three.
Inside somehow there are pieces gone,
When she died, a piece left with her,
And as you struggle to push me away,
Its to our pain that we refer,
My only hope of being whole,
Lives inside your eyes,
And the smiles that we show,
Are just our pains disguise.
The pieces, that are clearly gone,
Are two different memories,
One piece is somewhere in the ground,
And another leaves when you flee,
That means I reach for you at night,
You’re that hidden piece of me,
And as long as you’re not in my arms,
The third of me, is never free.