You Promised
You promised that when you die, you will show me a sign, a secret code just between the two of us. But it has been a month and all I got was dead silence — not a hint of your presence clothed in your spirit.
Did you not believe I will hang on to your promise? That every passing moment I strained my ear to listen; I looked as far as my gaze took me; I reached farther than what I could grasp? There’s nothing there but emptiness.
What about your promise? Was it a way of making those you left behind feel hopeful? Was it all a sham; mere lip service to comfort those who grieve for you? Was it a promise you never meant or could ever keep? Was it as hollow as the emptiness you left with me?
What about us? Where does death deceive us? To hope and wait for a sign embellishes the truth — that death does not promise anything but the end of life as we know it. There is no resurrection; only unending sorrow.
Did you not believe I will hang on to your promise? That every passing moment I strained my ear to listen; I looked as far as my gaze took me; I reached farther than what I could grasp? There’s nothing there but emptiness.
What about your promise? Was it a way of making those you left behind feel hopeful? Was it all a sham; mere lip service to comfort those who grieve for you? Was it a promise you never meant or could ever keep? Was it as hollow as the emptiness you left with me?
What about us? Where does death deceive us? To hope and wait for a sign embellishes the truth — that death does not promise anything but the end of life as we know it. There is no resurrection; only unending sorrow.