Knock, knock

I'm standing on the other side,

like so many times before. 

But this time,

it's different.

It's cold,

There is just the lonely echo of my voice.

I'm right by your side,

yet unable to communicate how I feel.

I am sorry for it all.

For the visits where the focus was on me,

the promises of trips we'd never take,

the encouragement that our next time together

would be so much sooner than the last.

Life and death make liars of us all.

As I watched you age

part of me would fear for my own future.

Do we bloom,

or dry up

into potpourri?

Colorful and fragrant,

but doing nothing.

Today you are standing on the other side,

and as hard as I knock,

it will not change the pine box

back into your front door.

Today, I can not feel your pain,

and you can't wipe my tears.

Every word I scream out

falls into the crowd of people

who have knocked,

who are fighting

for a place in line.

Asking forgiveness,

to the voiceless form

who has all the answers,

that can't be shared.

Knock, knock,

no one is there.

Your remarkable smile,

is now in search of

of a more deserving audience.