How do you grieve for the living?
Knowing that they live under the same sky?
See both the sun and stars shine?
Looks at the world differently than you do.

How do you grieve for those that have lost their way?
The ones that never wanted to stay?
Those that made homes out of your souls?
Those who slipped and fell?
The ones with their wings clipped?

There's an ache in your heart that makes it hollow.
Where that person used to be.
You walk the hallways of the house,
Reliving every memory.
Every hazy daydream.
Every Late-night conversation.
Every fight and fallout.

How do you continue on?
When pieces of themselves are scattered.
On the floor like a jigsaw puzzle.
Only you can't put the pieces back together again.

Each piece is a reminder of the way you laughed.
Each piece is a day you hold on to.
Each piece was a thought they had once.
Each piece is now a little bent and broken too.

How do you undo this kind of damage?
When it was never yours to fix in the first place.
How do you grieve for the living?
As their name gets stuck in your throat.
As you think you see them in strangers on street corners.
Capture a whiff of their scent.
The colour of their hair.
An outfit they would have picked.

Everybody talks about the dead with such respect.
What about those that have slipped through the cracks?
Became somebody nobody no longer wants to know.
With nobody to be there when they cried.
What happens to these lost souls?

Misfits?
Troublemakers?
Escape Artists?
Criminals?

All are just labels.
As you try to tear them off.
Showing society who they once were,

Nobody cares.
Nobody listens.
Nobody wants to know.
Nobody but you.
Can see their potential.

How do you continue living?
When you're not grieving for the dead?
But somebody else instead?

All alone.
Breathless and confused.
Looking at a photograph.
Of a person you once knew.

I looked at my hands the other day.
Really looked.
I saw the flesh, and the sinew, and the odd curves as the tendons snake their way back into their home

I saw my right ring finger;
Remembered there was a scar
And I looked,
For a while.
And I saw it

Faded but there,
Clear and standing.
Brazen roughness against the smooth porcelain.

I remember an event,
I'm not quite sure.
A fall.
A scrape.
A tumble.
Some sort of momentary tragedy.

I don't remember how it happened now.
And I found comfort in that thought.

Be the raindrops that fall from the sky,
That brings peace and tranquility to my mind,
Be the clouds from up above that shade me from the harsh sun,
Associate yourself with the beautiful dew that brings vibrant green to the plants,
Be the calm after the storm that restores peace in my heart and the land,

Smile like the rainbow when the clouds part,
Let in soft rays from the sun as the grey fades,
And most importantly,
Remind me of the rain.

Watching the frozen water vapor,
Ice crystals, falling from the clouds,
Towards, the cold hard ground,
With a strong wind, blowing, in every direction,
Spinning them in circles, all around.
One of nature’s most beautiful sights,
As they arrive for their landing, so gently,
Never making a sound.
When the sun shines down, on everything,
Covered in white, it brings a hypnotizing, trance,
With it, in the air, everyone always stops,
Their day, taking a few minutes and stares.
A snowfall, slows the pace of life, for everyone,
To experience, enjoy, and see, as it covers, all
Generations, reminding us,
The most beautiful, wonderful feelings, in this life,
Come naturally, simple and free.


The original: Tom Maxwell © 02/17/2024 A.D.

i spend a quarter of my time
dreaming of days gone from memory,
their vestiges lost in anticipation
of something new—
something worth betting
my remaining life with.

i wish i could go anywhere,
yet like a bird in a cage
i am merely a slave to these chains
and there's little to no chance
i'm making it out alive.

there is reprise, they tell me,
in my laughter—
perfectly rehearsed,
unapologetically
apologetic of jokes
meant to soothe
my own misery.
it is all i know,
and it is all
i will ever need.

"you remind me
of greatness," they tell me.
yet they forget reminders
are odes to what used to be
rather than what is.

these days, i turn to the future.
"dreams are for the blessed,"
i tell myself.
someday they will fade
and i, alone, will remain.