When You Passed Away

Four Years Ago,

you breathed your last breath

Lost control on the busy highway flow,

and circled closer to the dimmest light of death.


Four Years Ago,

you never made it home

As we got the calls that hit harder than a bullets blow,

you were making your way up the stairs in which the angels roam.


Four Years Ago,

I questioned and denied and cried myself to sleep

Why it had to be YOU was all I wanted to know,

but the grim reaper had already reaped.


Four Years Ago,

I begged God to take me instead

To spare your children at home who barely crawled slow,

from knowing their daddy was dead.


Four Years Ago,

I became furious with the universe,

wondering why rapists and school shooters were still on the go

and why couldn\'t I have set your car into reverse.


Four Years Ago,

I realized those people still had a family

and wishing death on someone else was somewhere I should not go,

because it is on that level of evil and hatred that I could never reach or be.


Four Years Ago,

although my pupils became the dark ascents of a blackened tunnel,

and my lungs filled with musky scents of rotting bone,

and my body ached with the feeling of your unbearable pain,


I learned to let go.