There are some people who
exist only in memory
Only within inner space
Turning and turning on the
same spot
To face you in daylight
Then disappearing into
darkness
Flickering sometimes in
dreams
Always on the edges of
consciousness
Asking not to be blotted out
Beckoning for home
But who is it asking?
Who is it wanting?
And who is it that knows?
O the dead do not feel dead
And those who live must die
daily
To let go
No comments:
Post a Comment