In stranger ways,
She shown brighter than all this.
Everything has remained dull,
Unworthy of her luminous, radiant light.
Paradise has to be more than just a parking lot,
Paved over the past,
Passed by thousands upon thousands.
She was golden.
Don’t ever tell me that change is good,
Change is easy,
Jerks you around and around round like some,
Wearing and tearing at the paint that once glimmered,
Shone in the starlight,
But now she’s shining,
Brighter than ever before,
Higher than ever before,
And as far as I can see,
My great-grandmother passed away this week. I never visited as much as I should have, never her told her how special she was enough. But that time is gone and all that’s left now is a hope that she knew how amazing she was to me and all of my family. She’s better now, gone to a better place.
This poem is for her.