To Grieve the Living
It's not novel, yet dismal, to lament,
those still living, whom simply cannot be.
Whose void is tangible, not transient,
whose absence, each year, one can never flee.
I'd seen glimpses of what could be, should be;
love, joy, awe, through faith, in God, a bright life.
For all their wacky laughs, crazy walks, games,
there were such deep trials, suffering, and strife.
But for this new season, one must let go,
and live one's life, with purpose and courage.
And take the joy, love, awe I should've known,
to my own home, for God, to let flourish.
01.05.2026
A poem a day
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