There are some that live with their lives,
walking around with their heads bowed
to keep tears hidden.
Bed-ridden from the sound
of their own steady heartbeat.
With little thought to spare,
some turn to religion just so they can feel
like they have a prayer.
When every dream is a nightmare
And they tear open every morning
to reveal reality,
just to remind you it is still there.
Despite all our best hopes,
there will be no escape from our binds.
For everyone who finds the rope
instead of support,
let this be the rapport by which
your memory still will echo within us.
To lift an entire heavenly choir to your name
and your legacy.
We will not forget you.
Until there is no one left to pass your torch.
The children you never had are echoes
bouncing off flesh and bone,
finding no way out amongst your corpse.
They will die with you,
as much as your memory eventually will follow suit.
The mute will one day find the voice
to cry out for the horrors done to you,
but until then, you must fight on
so you can live to see that day.
When every exit looks like another highway to hell,
you must find it within you to dwell
only in the light places
, to turn to friendly faces
no matter the pain,
to make all the slings and arrows hurled against you
thrown in vain.
We will not forget you,
but only if you are willing to echo
in our ears just a while longer.
. Flow like a river and
blow open this world like a volcano.
Leave your torments behind you on the bus home,
they will never reach you again.