The damp grass feels good to me,
I’m sitting here and thinking,
About my granddad,
And how he’s pretty much gone now,
Forgotten,
His “stone” is a bad excuse for a grave,
Which looks small compared to those big ones,
For those big families that have loads of money,
He had barely any to live on,
And neither do we,
His grave is wearing away now,
But his memories aren’t,
At least, for me anyway,
Not yet,
The writing is grinded away from years of rain and snow,
Storms and hail,
And all traces of him ever existing are gone,
But I can feel him here with me,
The way I feel God at the church,
He’s here with me now,
In his own way,
The grass blows,
A leaf falls onto my head,
He’s in the soil,
Rotten and transformed,
He’s in the trees,
He’s in the air,
And I’m breathing it in,
It’s sad to me,
How when my children come to my grave,
When I’m only here in memories one day,
And plant me lilies,
And pray for me,
They’ll run right past this one,
And not even know that it’s a part of them,
And his life will be as if it were for no reason at all,
He lived for nothing,
He did nothing,
Nothing to be remembered for,
Didn’t write any hit songs,
Didn’t find a cure for the plague,
Nothing great for thousands of people,
Just for me,
But as his stone is weathered away,
As that pathetic little rock,
That’s supposed to sum up his life,
In just a couple words,
As it disappears into nothing,
His memories start to dissolve from my mind,
I try to hold onto them,
But I can only grip them for so long,
And then they’re gone,
And so is his stone,
I can’t feel him anymore,
He must have left me.
I don’t know how long spirits stick around,
And talk and signal who they love,
But all I know now is that,
My granddad thought I was ready,
And now he left me to die one day,
And turn to dust,
And turn to the air,
And completely disappear,
From this neglectful world.