The ache would never be gone
All that was left was loneliness
— and the bitter sense of loss.
They had been friends before being lovers
Each knowing the delicate path they trod
Sharing their fondness of books, and life
They fell in love and she became his wife.
But she was black and he was white
And always they had had to fight
The hatred that lived in old Enoch’s time
Born of an ignorance that had no rhyme.
The abuse she suffered went over her head
When they had said she should be dead
She tried her best for it not to impress
But it only caused him so much distress.
But they’d survived and raised their son
And lived a life of love and fun
The joy of seeing their son, a man
His parents were his greatest fan.
She’d seen him love and marry too
And raise a new brood, daughters – two.
Slowly though her health succumbed
And feet and fingertips felt numbed
Her circulation, always poor
Stopped suddenly, then she was no more.
And now alone, emotions raw
He sits and stares at where he saw
Her standing last across the room
Where now is simply – empty gloom.
ⒸJoe Wilson – His lost friend and lover…2015
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