by Glen Martin Fitch
I had to ask a stranger
for the dirt.
"Things change.
He's moving on.
He's doing fine.
He's in a peaceful space,
so don't act hurt."
"But there's no better place
than next to me.
I need his help ,
while helping him as well.
With joy, devotion, memories,
please tell me
why he prefers
to wander free?
I can't read minds like you,"
came my attack.
“How dare he leave me
lost, alone,"
I cried.
"He's done his work now
on the other side."
I raised my eyes and screamed,
"I want you back!"
I snapped,
"He's grown so selfish
since he died."
"So HE'S the selfish one?"
the psychic sighed.
- Share this Poem:
ABOUT THE POET ~
Glen Fitch is a 16th Century poet lost in the 21st Century. Born near Niagara Falls, educated in the Catskills, thirty years on the Monterey Bay he now lives in Palm Springs. Retail not academics has paid the bills. Someday he will finish Spenser's "The Fairie Queene."
Last updated August 23, 2011