Part Of Me Or Parted Me?

The light of words

my only hope 

The darkness of casuistry

Her only fear

My fingertips

oozing strength, passion

and calm 

Her eyes,

reflecting 

a riot of conscience

 I lived for my poetry 

and prose

She died in fictions 

to be a mortal in her columns

earmarked pages,

faded roses,

And my jabber with

words

 Edited magazine articles 

In house style guides

and her riot with bigotry 

weaving a 

world less worldly 

Untangling the 

world affairs, less human

A poetess

A columnist

I felt 

She claimed

I wrote

She wrote

Quest for words.

Ink smudged finger tips.

A battle 

to calligraph

what is felt.

Different yet one.

Is she

A part of me or a parted me?