Today is for counting my wasted yesterdays
Each one neatly lined up
row on dusty row
Every year the same
Today is for remembering your unborn tomorrows
And the time I sit
because walking is too slow
There is no blame
Today is for pretending to make sense of the past
From a life ended
with nothing to show
When I speak your name
Today is for thinking that memories last
But all they do is fade
until they go
Like every unfinished song to be sung
About the death of a son
Copyright © 2012 William S. Friday
I’m so sorry.
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23 years, and I still remember every day. Thank you.
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It’s difficult to know what to say but you have found beauty in the darkest of places.
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Thank you, Pixieannie. Fortunately, this one was written a while ago, as was the event that gave me the words. But the feelings that still find their place in words will remain, always.
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Wishing you peace on this day whenever it comes around.
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