Death came down from the clouds.
So quietly.
So very softly.
He landed like a dragonfly on a flower.

Death is all of us.
Is in all of us.

I cried by your side as your breath blew away.
So now I'll wait for what feels like an eternity to be back with you.

The more I push away Death the harder he pushes back.
In the end we all die.

We all fall victim to the unavoidable.
Death is already here just look in the mirror.

We are Death.
We are the thing we fear.
We are what we strive not to be.
We are death.

Inescapable.
Undeniable.
Real.
Death.

Some people see light in me
Fire inside that I don't see
Burning bulb of a spirit sweet
Expectations I fail to meet

Some people think I am great
Love the pieces I create
Only imperfections there
A decent work is oh-so-rare

Some people know the things that I have done
Battles fought but never won
Yet they love me despite my wrong
Believing it made me strong

Some people wish I would try
Push myself until I cry
They don't realize that I do
The fire in me just won't shine through

Some people see grief inside
One I so carefully hide
Because I understand but they don't see
Some people cannot be what you want them to be

When great aunt Maggie passed away years ago, the one thing I really missed was her angelic voice.
The swaggering, sing-song lilt of the mid-Derry accent was as sweet as the confections she used to pass out to us as kids:
The inflection, the intonation, and the slight lisp she brought to it was so gloriously unique but was never heard again.
I often wish I could go back with a tape recorder to capture it in all its glory and relive how wonderful she was.
Now all I have is a untranslatable memory that can't be brought back to even vaguely approximate what it meant to me.

And now here I am again with the same obstacle.
The same tones, the same inflections albeit through a different light have just been extinguished before me.
This time there was no digital device rushing in to capture our time before it ran out.
No instinct for preservation was forthcoming - we were too busy having fun & 'being here now'.
No, once again I am bereft:
All I I have is here (in my heart) and and here (in my head)
The loved sounds I miss will always resound there albeit without backup
Voices lost but not forgotten.

The sun shines over the horizon,
Waking the world with its light.

And then he takes off to the field,
Playing along with the dandelions.

Wind brushes the hair out of his mysterious eyes,
As he gazes at the scenery full of yellow.

Dandelions dangling along the soft breeze,
He runs his hand along them as he walks past.

His toms slipping on the yellowish grass,
As he glides across the field.

He opens his empty arms widely,
And screams.

Screams in pain, sorrow, relief and joy.