11 Feb

Voices talk and echo in a crescendo, 

Bouncing off the chambers of the catacombs 

That lie within my memories 

Of family members who have passed.

 They tell me they have my back,

 So I do not need to be alarmed. 

Do I dare look to see if they are there?

What if I were to smell their cologne 

Or gaze into their eyes? 

I look across the threshold 

Separating the living from the dead, 

Knowing full well they are no longer with us. 

A small room opens into an expansive space, 

With a dimly lit horizon. 

The sky and the earth appear to merge

 Into a misty cloud with shadowy figures all around.

  Despite all of my brain health recovery efforts, I still occasionally hear voices. Sometimes they remind me of lost family members.

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