This is the first poem I wrote, inspired by the emotions involved in my Grandfathers passing

I watched my grandfather dying from the outside, as a nurse would watch him from the window of his room

His room glowing with the feeling of his ever knowing fate as he would soon drift off to a supposed better place

But as I sit by my mother and my father I question the amount of faith in this thing we call life

Faith in that better place when it decides to take a man who was so not ready to go

Yes they say 80 is an old age but how do you measure life

Life being to some just dust in the wind

His life I so longed to know that hinged on hope and reality

A cruel hinge one that usually takes reality over hope

My grandfather wrote books that I have yet to read

He was one with nature in his life’s tales like a smithy is one with his craft

The cruel irony of death being the trigger of what I longed to know

And when I look now to my grandfather in his shallow hospital cot

I realize that my face is hot

Hot with the tears for this man I wished I knew

The End

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