Colin F. Jones


Some of what you were still lives in me,
Though it’s not the sort of stuff you can see,
It’s thoughts and feelings deep inside,
Where only such sweet things can hide.
I laugh sometimes in front of folk,
Who think me strange; can’t see the joke;
Sometimes I cry; yeah I really do,
‘Cause sometimes you know, I am missing you.
But mostly I look normal to everyone,
They can’t see the damage your dying has done,
Nor feel the ache that is always there,
Keeping time with the pulse of ill despair,
That raises its head as each day doth set,
To remind my soul never to forget