Saturday, 20 June 2009

I'll visit you (a loving message from a middle-class, dead, middle-aged American father who lived somewhere in the suburbs of an average city).

I'll visit you in your dreams tonight.
I'll see you with the morning light.
Though I'm not here,
I'm not gone - don't you fear.
With messages in a thousand tones,
I'll lift you up when you're alone.
The structures of your memory hold images so strong, you see.
Memories are indispensible,
So don't feel reprehensible.

Do you remember being six?
The willow stooped like it was sick.
The picnic blanket was rose-red.
We were lain still as if we were dead.
And at your first hockey game,
You stopped the puck with every save.
I looked so proud.
You played your heart out.

And as I was lain about to die,
I told you that you shouldn't cry.
I would've told of a better place -
Though I couldn't lie right to your face.
I couldn't lie to myself;
This life alone holds all the wealth.
I'm not sure where I'll go,
But I hope your heart will be my home.

When you lie down to sleep,
Don't you ever think to weep.
Though, in your mind, you feel pain,
Know that you'll see me every day.

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