The last 3 of the River story

Permanent tears

Standing by the loud rivers roaring side,
looking at the old flowers that have died.
Each time I come here to see you my you,
new flowers I leave for your ghosts view.

Together we often sat lovingly still,
just to look off the side of this hill.
The stories we built together as one,
embracing each under the higher sun.

We adventured each branch on the trees,
each animal that came out for us to see.
The birds still swoop down to kindly wave,
the wolf protects your flowers so brave.
He sits each time since your untimely death,
next to me so patient with each breath.
Allows me to pet and stroke its head and back,
prefers to guard your flowers then join its pack.

Moments I take each time to view you my you,
still today my love is strong and firmly true.
Then I head down to my favorite writing spot,
looking up from down to where you were shot.
Write some stories for your ghost to sit to hear,
nothing will ever dry my permanent tears.

Sorry dear I must now go down to write for you,
sit and look up at the memories to quietly view.
Perhaps a ghost will come to play with me,
and the three of us can watch the wolf distantly.

Taunting

The path home was silent and long,
the memories followed me still strong.
The presence of the splashing fun,
through the tall grass I watched her run.

I avoided her eyes view to not be entranced,
I was lost already watching as she danced.
Hours past below your protected spot,
writing a story with no written plot.

Heading home she followed along my side,
in the truck, along for the silent ride.
This ghost I now keep close in my view,
taunting me every time I think of you.

The blanks

How do I finish the rivers story lines flow,
begin it, end it, writing when a ghost shows.
What did I go there to write or to achieve,
was it supposed to be about what to believe?

It wasn't until i saw the waves crashed foam,
that a ghost entered her story to dance and roam.
Follow me home and taunt my damaged thoughts view,
all I wanted was to go visit and write for my you.

Do I follow the flow to a river dark and upstream,
do I fall asleep listening to a taunting ghost scream.
When a rivers story has no beginning or end,
many banks, currents, twists and turning bends.
These paths for one to pick and delicately choose,
when writing stories to the lives people lose.

But I must confess some lines can be tried,
obsession brought her to where she had died.
A hunter misaimed and accidently shot,
she ended her own life alone on that spot.

How do I finish the rivers story lines flow,
I give it to readers, I just let it go.
I have my river spot and hers where she died,
the stories in my book by the ghosts taunting side.

The reader can fill in the story blanks.