They tell me that I perished

They tell me that I perished

   But I've never felt more alive

And the warmth of your presence

   Still lingers in my mind.

I ventured longer than an arm -

   Beyond the dim horizon -

Further than a murky quasar

   Yet less than a prayer's span.

When you stop to think of me -

   When tears can't help but fall -

Know that it's okay to grieve

   And let them wash your soul

Then look up and say a prayer -

   Since words have power of flight -

I'll catch it at heaven's shore -

   Think of you - smile and sigh.

Reviews

[Lara]

Ethereal and intimate, this piece aches with ironic comfort; as what seems a voluntary death serves as a vehicle to console they whom live and grieve.
The way it's structured, Amy, reinforces a sense of grace and acceptance which permeates the mood (notwithstanding the slight jarring word choice 'quasar'...).
I think this is smart and heartfelt writing.