By
Bud Lemire
At sixteen years old, why did it have to end this way
It happened so fast, he left this world too soon
Yet, it was his parents, he would learn to attune
Our spirits are renewed, while those left behind must grieve
As soon as that process, is over and complete
Then the time will come, that really can't be beat
Unknown to them, their son is standing near
In his spirit form, and it wasn't even a year
He touches his Dad's hand, and kisses his Mom's cheek
They still haven't acknowledged, nor do they even speak
Maybe something that he liked will be a familiar smell
If he could do it, he'd surely ring a bell
But they just carry on, thinking it's their imagination taking place
When all he wants, is for them to feel his loving embrace
If only he could tell them, “I'm right here with you” in a scream
Or come to them vividly, within their dream
Let them know somehow, that he's not really dead
It was just a body, that his soul occupied until he fled
I will come to them as a butterfly, or some kind of word
A dragonfly, a chipmunk, or something else absurd
If only I could tell them, so that they would know
“I'm always with you, wherever you may go”
Author Note:
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