There, There

I saw it spread slowly over his face
A tremble, a hapless wincing about the eyes,
Searching for the right words
To tenderly frame his father's final exit.

He held on to the microphone
And gathered in his heavy heart the memories
That would sustain him. The certainty of
The ground beneath him was sweet
And the kind eyes of the audience held
Him like a tired child asleep on a mother's shoulder.

Where
Do they go, the beloved that have left too early
For us to know their value or their vision?
Have they awakened to some new dream
Or paradise? Perhaps they sail slowly back to us
On the oceans of our silent tears.
Maybe they ride stallions on the thunder of our laughter
At the mistakes they warned us about making;
And laugh too, at us, having made them, ourselves.