A Letter to the Marble Soldier

It was the same sky that you’d seen that day. Even now when I look at the sky, I wonder about all the eyes that’ve scraped against it before. Like the stars that melted into the blue dawn of your last day, so you were when the roar came from that firmament.

I’ve stood over the masses; I’ve walked the waters where you rest. Those marble names lined the walls, each one like a message: don’t forget me. I can’t forget you, not ever.

You see, I’ve stood there on that white bridge— a pearl in and of itself. And I’ve sprinkled the flowers over your sleeping place, wishing to God that they were breaths He could give back.

If those flower petals were pennies, and He would grant me favors, I would ask for every petal to be a breath for you. But I know. I know Death is an old acquaintance of yours, and sometimes Death is a mercy—not the worst of fates.

I’m sure when the stars shine on your waters at night, those specks are numerous little ghosts—little pieces of memory, echoes in the dark lighting up your resting place. You were placed to protect, to guard, to stand watch within the harbor, and now the stars are your soldiers—they hover above you always.