In a Sense
Ever since you died,
I sometimes still find myself
Along our spoken archives
When searching
In search of a denial
For the solitude the now governs
My actuality
As what always and forever
Was never meant to be
Nor intend
Only to rediscover
You as ever certain
Amongst the lasting remains
Of a warm character
Who lives as still
Yet still, cannot live
Nor outlive
The livelihood
Of his ghost.
