I care that your body is frail
and in need of mending,
your clouds are now
mostly gray, your sun
is dimmed by constant rain.
Your heart is sometimes troubled
by thoughts of a different life,
one you might have led
if the roads you took had
traveled to some different lands.
But oh, those lands you traveled to
by night,
and how you saw the stars
and counted them, and knew their
names and they knew yours,
how you thought God cried
for you when you were lost and lonely.
Perhaps He really did, for how
are we to know.
Now I pray for you to realize
your journey was not in vain,
for what could you have written
of a perfect life with no
hills and vales of sorrow or joy,
no tales of vice and virtue to
show how true freedom can't
be won,
no visions of the other
side of life that most of us
will never get to see.
I thank you for your pictures
that you paint in words, I feel
the colors of your pain, and
summer rains that touched
your face in words you sing,
for you, my friend, have filled
a space in life, the place
which you alone have earned,
your memories teach us
many things.
Judith Anne Labriola
June 30, 2003
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