REQUIEM GUSTS

She stood on the hill, numb and tearful
the cold November wind bites at her face in chilling knives.

Lifting the urn and taking off the lid,
slowly her hands poured his ashes in to the air,
watching the gust take them towards the skies.

Her heart swirls in sadness and irony of relief
following the last request of her father regarding his ashes.

Listening to those funeral tales of his being a saint and prince
wondering how they couldn't know him as the demon of her youth,
letting the wind swallow the fiction, his love the best lie of all.