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Poetry

Inktober Day #22: Ghost

Ubi sunt qui ante nos fuerunt or where are those who were before us?

I drop my knee to this hardened earth,

reach out and lay my hand upon your grave.

I couldn’t believe you were pulled from the blackened hearse,

slowly tears begin to fall that I just couldn’t stave.

Thoughts of why you had to die,

and why I couldn’t of been the one dead instead.

More and more thoughts filled my head,

most spent to why time couldn’t last forever.

Where did you go, why did you have to leave?

From a kid then, to an adult now.

I still don’t understand and I never will.

All I know is what I felt and what I still feel.

As I knelt and cried, I felt your comforting touch.

The touch that only a grandmother could give.

To this day I still feel her with me, watching and protecting.

With eager eyes to see what I will do next.

Where are those who were before us?

In their perspective where are we?

We can feel their presence,

and they can feel ours.

They walk aside us and accompany us.

When the days get tough,

and the roads ahead get rough,

they comfort us and console us.

They stick with us even to the end,

as the last moments come and go.

They reach out and give us a hand to grasp on to.