The way my heart felt,
like a crumpled wad of notepaper within my ribcage
the day someone told me you had died so many years ago.
Five bullets
from a shotgun,
Bang!
Bang!
Bang!
Bang!
Bang...
And the man with his twisted mind,
who held the gun; it was his fault.
It was a day the world hung its head and weeped,
when Time itself took a pause from its toiling program,
and cried, too.
But then,
like a tiny butterfly tipping a scale,
they decided that
they would sing.
A rippling wave of silent song across the universe.
I wasn't there
but like a child slowly waking from a nightmare,
I can cry, too,
just as I can love a man
who died so many years before.