The Number 18

Number 18 is a number etched on the skin
a parchment of smiles through tears
a number, simple but never forgotten
written on the scabs of old wounds

18th of November a path to  glory was hoed
furrowed flesh won't ever hurt as much
or whispered goodbye and signs in the cloud
of oncoming storm of soul in death's clutch

remembering the name in the echoes of time
torch burning bright like a bush aflame
18 evoke regrets and what could have been
thus memories albums are flipped through again

the 18th of February a long time ago
a love bloomed in a beautiful display
the word was spoken thought to be true
the castle in the cloud was interrupted midway

love grown and thrived through sorrows
we tried to seek happiness along the way
we tried bravely to keep all our vows
but the crack showed and lies held sway

The number 18, always makes me think
of love and death like bookends
I, simply sitting in between
listening to their avid conversations.