Voices (A Poem)

They tell me what to do and I listen,
Taking turns to impart their wisdom.
Calculating, methodical, completely anachronical,
Pushing me to color outside the lines,
To embrace anarchy and rebel.

Walking the halls of memory,
I can hear them all clearly,
The voices of those whom I lost,
Jimminy Crickets,
In my head,
Pulling me through a life without them.

Guessing only what they’d tell me if they were still here,
I set on a hero’s quest to keep alive their legacy,
My steps confident and unwavering,
Unyielding and reliable,
Ensuring they would be proud of me.

I thank the stars for welcoming them into their brood,
For the light they shine brightly upon me guides me home.
Words cannot express how much I miss them,
How important it is to keep them alive in me.

The sorrow envelops me like a shadow,
Keeps me warm, comfortable;
A second skin that makes me impervious to further loses.
The grief fuels me, inspires me,
No longer a crushing weight,
And prepares me for the departures that linger,
Unannounced.

Someday I will transform all this energy into something beautiful.
Someday I will not hear them anymore.
They will die with me.
The silence deafening,
Their love spent well.