Wednesday, April 09, 2003
Among the quiet sigh of trees and stretches of green grass
I drove to visit you to recount a lifetime long past
the warm weather beckoned my travel to follow
feet familar in treading the old pathways of sorrow
the sun shone softly as I walked to where you were
my ears echoing with the sounds of a murmur
was it the wind or my voice as I knelt slowly down
my hand sweeping to clean the stone on the ground
wondering why how just eight numbers could define me
this cold etching of 'nineteen forty-six to nineteen ninety'
Father, you slumber while in this wasteland I still face
seeking some sense in these circumstances and faith
wishing I knew how you could deal with waiting
this body is breathing but my soul is suffocating...
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