For You Who Are About to Give Up

Think of what you'll miss;
the voices of children;
apples, dark wine on a table;
the smell of the spring before you're ready.
Stay.
It doesn't get better, it gets truer.
Winter. Albums. Madness.
Your grief in you like a cello
in its locked, black case.

The lemon-scent of someone who has gone.
Breathe.
Just breathe and be here.
In my darkest night, in the storm before morning,
I heard a voice
that told me it was listening.
Friend, I would sit with you
and listen.
As long as you have breath
you could be song.
As long as you have breath you could be song.

--- Joseph Fasano