It's been ten years,
Of struggle, perseverance,
and barely any tears.
Every day that passed bringing
a new battle to fight,
A new day trying to shake his strength,
to break a man made of might.
Every night that passed trapped him;
His soul, too strong for the crumbling body,
waiting for freedom,
waiting for all the lights to dim.
As the lines of imagination and realism began to blur,
the ghosts that haunted him clear in his eyes,
Tortured and troubled as he were;
he became a prisoner of his mind.
For every battle he fought and won,
One more day he could see the sun.
And though he was resilient and strong and brave—
even the bravest soldiers get weary,
And even the brightest of days can be dreary.
So God decided—
He shouldn't have to fight,
He’s had too much dark, he deserves only light;
He shouldn't have to hurt, He shouldn’t have to bleed,
He should have freedom; Paradise and peace.
And though today, he does not breathe,
He was undefeated, as he will never cease to be.
He lived a survivor,
He died surviving,
He will be a survivor for all of eternity.
This is about my grandfather, who died of Parkinson.