Memories will fade.
Voices, smells, fingers, movements
Will become distant echoes of lives past.
So give me your stories.
That the presence may be etched
Into one more person’s mind.
Spring will emerge.
After a long winter, the dim, cozy interior of the house
Feels more safe than venturing into the blinding sunshine.
So give me your seeds.
That I may plant and nourish them
And you will have flowers, when you are ready.
The road will keep winding.
Endless labyrinth of circles and corners
Will be daunting in its never-ending unknown destination.
So give me your broken compass.
That we can join in our efforts and search
For the haven together.
The world becomes deaf.
Ears close to your screams and pleas
As days, months, and years crawl into the space.
So give me your words.
That my ears may listen gently,
Oblivious to the passage of time.
The emotions are burdensome.
Up, down, left, right, cyclical
Unrelenting in their heaviness.
So give me your stones.
Let me slide the weight from your shoulders
Onto my own, to provide some ease.
The journey is unwelcome.
But necessary in its requirement for
Existence on this earth.
Living is dying and loving is grieving.
So give me your hand
And let me walk with you.