The good memories are vague
The painful ones stay
Do not stand at my grave and weep;
I am not there, I do not sleep.
I am a thousand tears that rolled down.
I am the handprints on my skin.
I am the fear of making mistakes.
I am the rain cutting the space.
When you awaken in the morning's hush
I was the one who made breakfast
Walked in sorrow and proved being good.
For no reason.
I was the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry;
I am not there, I did not die.
Laila Chris Batista