The alcoholics ashes lay,

In an urn above the floor,

Stored away closed and still,

A symbol of what was before.

A life once filled with turmoil,

And pain that could not be ignored,

But now in death, a chance for peace,

And calm to be restored.

I sit in adjacent room at night,

And reflect upon your ways,

The good, the bad, the joy, the pain,

And how we struggled through those days.

Though you’re gone, the dogs sense you here,

A chill rush through the air,

And every time I pass that Urn,

I know you can’t get out of there.

So, with the closet kept shut tight

Your memory sealed within

For in that urn where there is no light

After 23 fucking years, the drying out finally begins.