You Didn't Say Goodbye

The silence condemned by the clichéd call.
The Grand Reaper took your hand through the wall.

With this news your paper like body drifted to the floor.
Life's merciless window had opened the door.

Your father's death melting from your face
Like mercury abandoning its thermometer case.

I watched your large and angelic hands
Cover your face as the ground expands.

Your heart like the tethered balloon in a breeze so unkind
Then a posting for the sale of the memory keepers mind.

I hung in disbelief and watched from behind my reflection
White light and black rain bombed us like an infection.

Your Father died on his bed next to the wall.
The divinity, the power of it all.

On a quest to find your inner child you asked
“Why? Why? Why?”

“Father you didn't call to say goodbye you just
Died, died, died.”

Then, like tattered wings of destiny, we just
Cried, cried, cried.