Are never adequate.
Nothing quite lives up
To the memory
Of a living person.
Loss is loss.
Whether you engrave it in gold
Or write it in the sand
The departed won’t answer
When you call them by name.
Grief is grief
And it has no expiry date.
And though the years
Pile on
The hole is never quite filled.
The substance of a memorial
Is not so much about what is done
Or who is present
As it is a reminder of what has been lost
And who is gone.
6 years ago today, Dad.
heartinscriber 