Skipping Stones
I feel like everyone expects me to smile,
to be the one making their day bright;
but here I am with these rocks in a pile,
skipping stones just trying to find some light.
I can never seem to get more hops across
than the number of those no longer here;
as I stand here and struggle with yet another loss,
I ponder what, from all of them, I'd want to hear.
That it's okay the branch he loved I so eagerly spite,
that she's proud of all I continue to do;
that I did all I could for him that fateful night,
that this newest wishes only that I carry on through.
That though their days have been spent,
some remnant of identity lives ever on;
his altruism, her tough will unbent,
his clever wit, his grin ever ready to dawn.
Here on this shore I hear no such assurance,
just four stony ripples' echo in the twilight;
I drop my last rock and question my endurance,
how much I can take of memory's sight.
So if you find along the way much the same lot,
your friends erstwhile but your aches alive;
you can find me handing out stones at this spot,
and together through this moment we can strive.
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