You had a beautiful singing voice
and when I look at that picture of you I can still hear it
I can still feel your arms around me after I read you that piece of poetry
I just wish that it had been my own
I think you would've been proud.
You belonged in all white
because isn't that what angels are supposed to wear anyway?
You never looked sick
because you'd never allow anything to best you
terminal disease or not
you weren't leaving without a fight
and for that reason we all looked up at you with admirable eyes
that lacked worry or any other form of pity.
You'd always had busy feet
walking down streets
and across cities
without a single complaint
because it was the adventure that you lived for.
You were nothing like those grandmother's on TV
you weren't delicate or feeble
you didn't knit us sweaters or pass out butterscotch candies
you walked with a straight back and a warrior's personality
you took rooms by the reigns
and strangers and family members alike showed you the same respect.
You were lowered into the ground before my eyes
I'd never cried so much in all of my sixteen years
and I learned to wipe those tears and walk tall
while my heart sits beneath the soles of my feet.
