Departed but not lost

Where do they go, the ones we loved?

The ones who passed from our sight but not our minds.

Why do we cling? 

To keep them near? 

Instinctive grasping, clutching, fearful of loss. 

Broken suffering hearts let go.

I don't know why I still mourn lost friends. If they have died they are not sad, or worried. They don't miss me, or air or ice cream. What's with this miserable need to keep them here? And the ones who still live let them go where they will. 

What fragments of regret would I keep for eternity or wear as a medal in honour of my pain.

Let them pass like water, or leaves falling touching my feeble skin as they go, the union of souls does not keep score.

I read a poem this morning that loosened my grip.

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Epitaph - By Merrit Malloy

 

When I die

Give what’s left of me away

To children

And old men that wait to die.

 

And if you need to cry,

Cry for your brother

Walking the street beside you.

And when you need me,

Put your arms

Around anyone

And give them

What you need to give to me.

 

I want to leave you something,

Something better

Than words

Or sounds.

 

Look for me

In the people I’ve known

Or loved,

And if you cannot give me away,

At least let me live on in your eyes

And not your mind.

 

You can love me most

By letting

Hands touch hands,

By letting bodies touch bodies,

And by letting go

Of children

That need to be free.

 

Love doesn’t die,

People do.

So, when all that’s left of me

Is love,

Give me away.