died without knowing the truth of what happened.
the past unforgiven and never again forgotten.
memories lost are now found.
no justice in a world that is round.
a sadistic amnesia with repair to the damaged mind.
my heart breaks with what I find.
remembering a soul mate too late.
when it mattered the most.
I now stalk his ghost.
a bodyguard untrusting.
a sickness was lusting.
evidence remembered but undiscovered.
a last will and testament in the wrong hands.
npg was his band and 3rdeyedgirl became his new world.
he found me when I could not remember.
after he died my memory returned.
my heart cracked and burned.
his essence cremated.
his assets debated.
his legend unfaded.
my soul forever waited.
a destiny outdated.
an image unhated.
a body degraded.
now extinguished.
pure intentions never mentioned.
to bring him back a miracle I wished.
I would give anything to make true.
to restore his life new.
so together we can be two.

That book in the wicker basket,
North aisle of the nave,
Is one of the saddest things.
Messages for the little ghost who lies,
Alongside,
Some Anglo-saxon kings.

(I watched nobody read it
From a distance.
Her shoulders were shaking.)

Later,
Nobody went with me to London again,
On the train.
The NPG is a short walk across Trafalgar Square
From the station,
And there
(On the third or fifth floor - can't recall)
Was the drawing - so small,
Behind bullet-proof screens,
Alongside,
A bunch of Tudor queens.

(I think I read that she is on tour at the moment.  Australia perhaps.  I wonder who she is rubbing shoulders with now.)