Feels like words often fail to catch people
We get lost in the moment and forget and only remember when nobody can hear
It’s cold
Death
Not comfort
Nor a paradise
Nobody but we have the right
To denounce
or valuate
Our lives. However much is left
We leave behind
‘It’s too fucking brief’
They say you had your time but
Who’s counting?
And what is left when we are gone?
Thomas….
It’s not faulty stitches you can unpick- who gets to say you weren’t perfect
In your own little universe?
Just because your frame sits crookedly in your chair
Smile half-cocked and eyes that rattled
Laugh that rolled easily;
Like beads in a pinball machine
There were always games going on inside you
With a banging giggle
You invited us to share. Readily
And laugh you did
There was so little time to prepare
In my eyes I saw your sweet, sleepy smile
Naughty hand- the one which held all the mischief raised
As sleep became you
A few days later only to feel the cool glass phone screen on my cheek
I heard you were gone
Little comfort for us as your fate flies undetermined
I think you’ll come back. Perhaps you have already
Sometimes like a whisper you’ll come to mind
I guess your stay with us would be coming to an end
I crossed your name out neatly in the diary
It’s still written but the line reminds us
Of what has already been done
As you floated away
Your only fight in the final few hours
They told me there were yellow balloons flying at your funeral
Perhaps one was you?