The Days after Him

A sad little prose I wrote over the first couple days after hearing that my Grandfather had passed away.

The days become cold as I sink here all alone.  I leave far behind me the world I have always known.  No snow on the ground, no leaves other then green, but I still sit here alone, cold like a stone.  I sink to the depth, where the mind never rests, sinking alone in this hell of my own.  Another has gone as a legacy burns.  I am the last of us though I have nothing to earn.  My home falls and crumbles, the bricks turn to sand.  My mind falls like darkness like a sun without the will to stand.  I have tried in my way, to rekindle my flame.  But so much has been lost that it has become a nightmare to write again.  I do what I can to keep some composure, but tears fall away while I search desperately for closure.  The last hero is gone, leaving me soundly adrift.  I can think of little else but these torments and rifts.  With no one left to guide me as all my father's are now dead and buried; I can't find the strength to stand up for this duty. 

               There is a legacy in me that I found out rather quickly.  I am cursed in this life to have one good year in twenty.  Each decade that starts, always comes with a tragedy, this time around has not found me lucky.  So long ago, my father was taken from me, now my last hero has died and I am left empty.  I feel pity that he could not go home once more before dying.  I feel grateful he went with peace, for he had little with his family.  I want to be with my heroes in the land where they are buried, but I am the last one who had a chance to be worthy.  I failed so much and my life seems so hard.  I want something good again but the universe is an evil god.  No peace waits for me as everything I have crumbles; forcing me to leave all my hope with another.  I want him to be better, to find things easy.  I want him to live free, without this legacy of a dying.