For the living.

For the living.

Even in absence

I feel you there.

Around the next corner,

Stepping into the shadow,

Under a street lamp.

Coming out of a shop,

On the other side

Of a platform.

Running through the rain,

Boarding a train,

Carrying a suit case,

A turn of the head

Obscuring the face.

Was that you I saw?

Sometimes I hear you

In another room.

In the silent hum

Of a missed call.

I know in truth,

Although you have gone,

I keep a part of you

Locked in my heart.

But it does not lie still,

It burrows, ever deeper.

A pain that ebbs and flows

With the passage of time.

It can be a comfort

To believe

We are not alone.

But it can also wound,

Tearing the flesh,

Ripping old scars.

Laying them open,

Exposing raw nerves

To the whim

Of a thankless world,

Blind to suffering,

And indifferent to

The torment of the few,

Who struggle to live on,

When so many

Remain lost.

Yet still, we remember,

Hold on to our loss,

So others can forget.

Because the weight

Of it is so great,

It becomes a burden

Not wished on anyone.

At least, not yet.