PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Speak to me, spirit of the dead. 
The smell of your pipe fills the room. 
Your aroma glistens in the 
silence that is your house. 
I sit in your favourite chair 
and remember 
talking with you. 
Opening our thoughts 
and our perceptions 
like 
two ice cubes 
glowing with the 
cold of the freezer. 
Speak to me. Spirit of the dead. 
Remind me once again of 
the value of your passing. 
I heard tears and felt 
emptiness when you died. 
I shivered in the memory 
of you sitting in this chair. 
Eating left-over pizza and 
drawing in my heart 
the fabric of 
your memory. 
It haunts me, 
dominates my focus. 
Creates in me 
a pleasure at the 
fantasy of you 
surviving your cancer. 
We spoke of this! 
Do you remember? 
Of one day you rising 
from your death bed 
and once again 
cooking in the kitchen 
you so loved. 
Speak to me. Spirit of the dead. 
Blow your pipe smoke 
into my heart and let 
it heal this turmoil. 
I saw you, in your coffin. 
Not at all as I remembered 
you the day you told 
the family you were dying. 
Or when I was younger and 
you took me camping with you. 
Speak to me. Spirit of the dead. 
Comfort me as best you can 
from the other side 
of the grave. 
I will never forget you. 
I will never forget how 
much I loved you. 
I wonder now if you 
realize that?