Hanging upon my wall living on in memoriam,

Your worn-down wooden frame

Contains the sounds of surging waves.

Seagulls soaring high through midnight blue skies,

Racing against rageful rainstorms reminiscent of

The day your soul went astray

Leaving everyone else in a state of dismay.

Around the frame is a rope; braided, twisted, and tied,

Except for the frayed fringes flailing at the sides.

Mimicking promises made that could not be kept,

I wish you were here to tell us what to do next.