Unopened letters
addressed to you,
half burnt incense,
rent overdue.
Dishes piled high
in the kitchen sink,
walls half stripped
back to that disgusting ‘salmon’ pink.
All the things started
that will never be complete,
all the things left unsaid,
heart left obsolete.
Because now you’re gone
and that ‘seed’ has been planted,
that there were too few ‘I love yous’
and too much taking you for granted.
On that pile of unopened letters
addressed to you
an unopened birthday card (from me)
‘I love you too.’
‘Half Started, Never Complete’: A Poem On Grief.
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