A true personal poem, based on a recent experience, to anyone grieving. |
Dear Sam The flower petals fall Representing you The wind sweeps gracefully Through the flowered trees I stand before you, Eyes marble and head bowed, and all is Calm. Dear Sam They say nothing is written in stone Yet your name is forever etched on my Memory, on a monument. You hang over my prayers, A closed box of Secrets. Dear Sam I can see you again, and I can see the cracks. The back of your hand, a tree growing blue green Your fingers wrapped in vines, Tangled and Struggling. Your heart held in another palm, Wrapped in thorns, hurting. Dear Sam I can tell what you felt When you saw the ashen metal You felt helpless, broken, amazed. The metal felt terrifyingly...good. You held the barrel of that gun And you cracked, new. Dear Sam I know what you were thinking That lonely, shattered night You were thinking about how people seemed to always see you how you were Biologically and Physically When they should have seen past that To who you were Mentally and Soulfully. Dear Sam It took a single silver bullet To your mind, to your Soul, To open our eyes To your world. It took the chill barrel of a gun To show us That SOMETHING IS WRONG. Isn't there a better way? ...No? Something is wrong, Not with you, us. |