Unfulfilled Dreams

Thirty five years and one month old,

You were a sensitive, young man with a heart of gold,

Your career moves were bold,

Which automatically made you a little cold,

Your ashes are nice and cold for sure,

I wish, you had reduced your work tours,

I also wish you paused, to breathe a little,

And absorb the material things you amassed, instead you let your heart go brittle,

You ran behind all the wrong things and people,

Who successfully kept you on an artificial steeple, 

I feel bad that you never got to drive your BMW X1,

Or raise your son,

Those were your dreams,

I won't bother fulfilling them, by any means,

I have different dreams,

Your death has automatically put us, on different teams,

Rest in peace,

That's the least you can do, after robbing my son and me, of our peace.