To you whose sand has slipped at last
Be sure that some think far too fast
Your words, your voice, forever stilled
And what is left seems loud and shrill.

The world you feared while you were here
Had sought your heart with oft-thrown spear
I hope you’re in Elysian Fields
And need no more true Aeneas’ shield.

I wish I’d known when you would leave
And sought for both our sakes, reprieve
So all the things I did not say
Would not be hanging on this way.

But there you rest beneath the dirt
And I, still here, can’t end the hurt
Of having not been more inclined
To seeking what was there to find.

So kneeling here beside your grave
For once I should be halfway brave
And thank you now, though deaf you lie
For seeing things and knowing why.

Copyright © 2005 Paul Heno