Poppy

In a field you are free,

In a time intertwined with your soul,

To be free,

Its to be and of itself.

You are dead,

Long gone from this world,

But in fact your glow of the soul,

Is shining down on us much like the sun would.

You are still my Poppy.

Like the name of a flower,

but its meaning is,

You are my grandfather.

Still the warm-hearted gentlemen you were,

You look the same and talk the same,

Even walk the same too,

Only the difference is.

Is that you live without us in a world of peace and harmony,

A world that is created only for the souls of the once living.

A world where death is an uncommon thing,

Because once souls descend,

They cannot die.

A soul can reincarnate,

But infact a soul could neither die nor could it be alive,

Because of it being already in another dimension.

Dying is only a side effect of being alive,

Or in a sense.

The unfortunate side effect perhaps.

But being sick is the side effect of everything major in this world.

Being free means to be without sickness,

Be unknown in the lands,

To be another ‘thing’ or ‘thought’.

To become one with the nature and life that surrounds you and eventually open the gate.

Try and become another part.

To seize the moment and become a light,

To show us the real you,

And to show us your not really gone,

You still protect us and you’ll always be.

But here in my heart is where I think you are,

Because all of the stuff that you talked about to me,

Is still here in my heart,

Still here waiting for me to see,

That you are still here with me.

My Poppy,

My Grandfather,

A Great-Grandfather,

A Husband,

A Brother,

An Uncle,

A Son.

A Father,

And best of all a Keefe!