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Created on: October 25, 2010 Last Updated: November 02, 2010
A poem to Garrett-
From your vantage point in heaven
do you see the tears we cry
or watch us as we wrestle with
a million questions "why"
You left us without answers
and no way to understand
the choice you made to leave
was never in God's plan
You couldn't see beyond the pain
and in a moment of despair
you gave into the darkness
convinced that no one cared
Did it even cross your mind
that you would break our hearts
or that the pain of losing you
would tear our world apart?
Precious son, we long for you
Our hopes and dreams are shattered
If only you had realized
How much you truly mattered
Your best life was still ahead
but now we will never see
you kiss your bride or hold your child
Precious moments that will never be
Your place within our family
Was meant for only you
Now our precious memories
Are all we have to hold onto
We know if you could bridge the gap
between time and eternity
that you would take another path
and do things differently
Surely your heart grieves, dear son
for the anguish in our souls
Knowing that you broke our hearts
and they may never be whole.
“There are no tears in heaven”
The Lord wipes away each one
But for those left here without you
The tears have just begun
The only comfort we can find
in the midst of so much pain
is knowing there will come a day
we will be with you again.
Until that day we pray for grace
and strength to make it through
This old world is not our home
especially without you.
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Poetry: Death of a son
by Cheryl Evans
A poem to Garrett-
From your vantage point in heaven
do you see the tears we cry
or watch us as we wrestle with
a million
by Moeze Lalji
Death of a son
The show of the coffin
The grave taking over love
The blanket of darkness
As we see through our blind eyes
Prophets
The Accident
Laying on the trolley with family milling round
The footsteps of the nurses through my head they pound
I know
I once had two anchors unique
that held me to this world.
Bound by cords of love and pain
and ties of eternal strength,
Near The End of my End
Near the end of my end, washed up, I find
Your face, that face again,
Crumpled like a used tissue left
View All Articles on: Poetry: Death of a son
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