Do not try to call me,
Or get me out of bed.
To say they’re in a better place,
Just means that they’re still dead.
Do you mean to suggest,
That they preferred the grave?
Than staying here with those they loved,
In our family enclave?
Each day the pain is bittersweet,
The healing scar does grow.
Time pads on with kittens feet,
Yet drags when shadows low.
The pain is both a joy and curse,
To feel their loss this way,
Yet knowing that it could be worse,
As I relive that day.
I could’ve tried to love them less,
But that would’ve been a lie.
Because loving them had naught to do,
With when they chose to die.
The specter came with his scythe,
To cut away those bonds.
That kept them shackled to disease,
While Charon stilled their ponds.
Do not try to call me,
Or say you understand.
For if you do, then you belong
To this sad and lonely clan.
It helps to know you’ve thought of them,
On this anniversary,
But don’t try to dry my tears today,
Just love and let me be.
-Faintly Macabre
--- March 26, 2015
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