White Balloons

White Balloons



I passed by a cemetery today and saw a small crowd
dressed in dark clothes on a late spring day,
holding white balloons.

Attentively, these gifts of honor salute the sky
the sky lined with gray clouds, filled with moisture
forming into droplets
falling upon them.

Did they notice?

I glance some folded umbrellas
perhaps a few
fearing a burst
of the delicate offerings above.

They stand sentry still
stealthily grieving
one whose fight was lost
who sits among the clouds
free-spirited, yet
so stealthily spirited away.

They wait, awaiting words,
words that will remind them
it's time to let go
go in peace
remember ...
move on.

Does anyone hear them?

What lesson of loss would be taught
learned or preached
that could comfort their soul?

They stand, lean and wobble
cheeks streaked with wetness ...
not from the rain.

Did he die in pain?

A girl clung to her mother’s waist,
her balloon sagging lower than the others.

Was that her brother?

A child is being buried today--in soggy soil
surrounded by sweet prayers
supportive loved ones, and those balloons ...
those hauntingly still, white balloons

Can he feel their love?


I passed by a cemetery today and saw the white balloons
A tribute to a child
taken too soon.




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