Today I will visit your grave,
and that familiar facade will remain.
For the world, I will appear so brave,
yet inside, my soul will scream in pain.
At your feet, I will strongly stand,
staring at your name etched in marble.
I will shake as I softly place my hand
over your drawing and marvel.
Your art is forever displayed
on the stone that remembers your name.
Your shape is forever preserved
on the vase that signifies your fame unattained.
Your soft hands holding the guitar
that you so skillfully played.
The strings attached to my heart
echoing the sounds that your hands made.
Under the beautiful oak tree, you will forever lay.
The moss hanging down all around your grave.
And the river you face will bring serenity
when the overcast skies bring in the choppy waves.
Off the river comes the sweeping winds.
Softly blowing through the moss that hangs,
yet coldly brushing across my skin,
drying the unseen tears that leave the salty stain.
For today, you would be only fifteen.
But fate chose another path for you.
A life barely begun before it saw its end.
A path that the Lord and You only knew.
Who will blow out the candles from your cake?
My own breath lacks the strength.
The winds from the river shift and fluctuate,
extinguishing the candles as if you sent them.
I will pray before I turn away,
that I will see you under the moon.
The wind makes the moss sway,
as I hope slumber brings us together soon.
I can only see you in my dreams,
under the twinkling stars whose names you knew.
Impatiently I wait for that slumber so sweet,
under the beaming light of the blue moon.
It is then that you still feel so real.
Your smell, your skin, your hair.
As if you were still near.
All this waiting, it is so unfair.