His eyes are dull and cloudy
though they used to shine with song
But he continues living
for the ones already gone

He lives for his friend’s memories,
not truly for himself
He lives for all their photographs
placed on the second shelf

They look at him and smile wide,
frozen in their time
The only time they move
is in the grieving young man’s mind

In his dreams they visit him
and sigh their quiet sighs
Always after these dreams,
the man appreciates the skies

Perhaps they’re looking down on him,
sitting on some cloud
Or perhaps they stumble through the street,
their voices way too loud

But the one thing he holds true-
and tightly he holds on-
is though they don’t walk next to him,
they’re never truly gone