My Grandfather's Loneliness

Sitting lonely in his room,

Amidst the books collected,

Remnants of a life well lived.

Looking at the television rather than watching it.

What thoughts could he be having?

What butterflies in his mind?

And yes, the rain does fall like liquor down his throat,

Like a thousand tears unsung of,

I'll sing them for you.

Your skin is dried up and wrinkled,

On them are poems you couldn't write-

I'll write them for you.

You told me to be a poet was not a life,

But you also said that poetry could change life,

Recreating life out of life.

Your melancholy,

Your soliloquy you couldn't sing,

Why not? The burden,

The burden of making a living,

The burden of family,

The burden of having a bird in your soul

Surrounded by four walls,

No window to even look out of.

Grandfather, when I look into your eyes I cry.

I cannot be near you because I feel your pain,

And if it's too much for me,

How much can it be hurting you?

By the time I make it, you'll probably be dead.

By the time I'm flying, you'll already have laid your head

Beneath the the tomb of the centuries,

There you'll lie.

But don't worry grandfather, you too will fly,

For I will make it so.