I Write Poetry

The soft breeze no longer caressing your skin,
the sun no longer leaving you warm.
It's going to be okay.
Life can still change.
We sway as a strong breeze sweeps past,
but it went right through you.
I reach for you,
hoping for a tangible detail, any detail,
but my hand clenched your hard, delicate soul.
What's wrong?
The weight on your shoulders visible as the light diminishes in the day that is quickly escaping.
You hold, your face set
you can't hear me.
I call and reach out only to be repelled by the invisible hands of your existence.
You walk away, no thought of me.
You have forgotten me...
or were you ever really thinking about me?

But, if you're the dead one,
what's it like to be alive?

-Daneya