Sunday Nights

Who brought about these rumors of loss?
As we follow the drip of your morphine sleep.
Should we sit back while heaven and hell fight over what is ours?
At times when souls and skin begin to fade,
And the rest of the world is only what we used to know.
Stuck in a place where words don’t matter and actions are few.
Getting lost in blank walls and white lights.
Our thoughts as busy as the unpredictability of the halls.
Where ghosts have conversations about the memories they’ve lost.
It’s so still once the world has stopped spinning.
My mind travels to a youth gone by,
Where this place didn’t exist.
Now, it has blended with reality.
We see in colorless slow motion as you turn to the last chapter.
Our arms, reluctantly open for you to pass the story.
Gathering strength in life, thanks to the impact of death.
Wondering how we will go on.
Knowing you’ll always be there.