Some days

are tangled in the grey

shrouds of mourning

and I am visited by visions

of those who exchanged the drab clothing of Earth

for the technicolor streets of Heaven

Through the storm

of this pleasant sorrow

I see them still, living

like a candle flame surrounded by snow fall

portraits, shuffling

like Polaroids through the hands of an impatient uncle

at that family gathering that left me, breaking

beaten down by the gaiety of the simple

laughing and eating

with an ease that blesses the forgetful

Yet, with time comes changing

I must face the visions melting

away through the power of the sun

leaving me with nothing

but hallways that echo lonely

asking, what have I become

by remembering

someone consumed by melancholy

or someone still standing

grasping the diamond of their memory

lurching forward, staggering

inspired by the good they used to be