All Turns To Ash- In Rememberance Of My Great Grandfather

Raging thunder ruthlessly
End white walled empty dreams.
Lids and books flutter open,
A placid hour spent
Spurning Hypnos' pestilence.

Another disruption, now
Upon the groaning gate.
Enter a pair in consternation
Faces held long after
Lengthy deliberation.

A brief sentence, a passing death,
A murmured syllable made inaudible.

Deterrents leave, pages turn
Thoughts turn to poetry, to crimson hearts.
A silent door opens, unveiling
A fold of paper in a knoll of cloth.
Upon it are delicate words
By an innocence lost.

The calligraphy intended for a relative gone
The hopes now crushed, faith begone.

Now restored in its early grave
Left to mourn in ashen years.
On occasion, revealed
Allowing streams to roll down
A remembering face.

The saline is then
Wiped, walled, bottled, burnt.