No one dead who loved you Would wish your future years dismembered Against the rocks of their departure. They would not sentence you to the guilt of betrayal For any moment they weren’t uppermost in your mind Nor would they wish you whittled down like a stick To pick the stony teeth in the open mouth of abject misery, Daily, until you are nothing left. No one dead who loved you Would want your still-breathing carcass To be lost in the wilderness That spans the two worlds of the living and the dead, Where you are neither dead nor living. They would not applaud your misery, But would weep to watch their loss Made pointless by the waste of you. The dead become a part of us; our skin, our bones, our thinking; Their existence is continuous in us And the best we do in everything As we move on from the moment of their passing. Step back from the graveside where nothing flower...
life, with a pink seasoning; an LGBT perspective.