i can imagine many little deaths
a final goodbye, one last kiss goodnight
an endless argument with no true ‘right’
a candle blown out or lonely last breath
the pain you feel sitting deep in your chest
the shadow of the reaper, sat upright
the immediate dread, fight or take flight
closed eyes and deadly dreams. eternal rest
she made me a promise and i broke it
one cannot teach the living when they leave
i cannot learn from the urn, nor the ash
i look for ghosts and signs, closeted hints
i find torn clothes with no one left to weave
this, too, is a death. a crash and whiplash
august. september. november. i won’t pray
there is no god kind enough to return you
gentle nana, i miss you and your ways.
i dream of death and still wish for a ruse
if my fears live as true as your goodbye
then what chance do i stand? this is your cue
can i carry you until you reincarnate?
remnants in an urn. rise from the ashes
i let you go, nana. it is your turn.
return, phoenix. i will keep your fire warm.