Go gently, old friend.
Leave only
sweet ashes, drifting
through minds that
sift away
the silt.
Memories
of confusion and pain
are the dust in our tears;
we rinse them away.
What remains is a
kind reminder
of the
best
times
of your life.
Gone is the child
who reached for hands to hold,
the child who hungered for a loving touch.
Gone are the fists that rained cold blows
on your bewildered sensibilities.
stealing away what might
have been.
Now
you are free.
Go gently, and rest in peace.
.
©Jane Paterson Basil
Making it write 