Let The Tide Be Sent Poem by Michael Brosky

Do we keep the dead here clinging to the shadows and cold?
Are we so lost at their leaving to hold them at their expense?
Would they go on to the sure reward even if they were told?
Are memories enough to comfort us in this past tense?
The days turn into shadows and the green leaf turns into brown
Try as we might, we lose them both sure as the sun goes down

Do we talk to empty spaces or do we talk to the ghost?
Are the footsteps and their faces just echoes of our lost hearts?
Would we condemn them to rage as waves against the rocky coast?
Or shall we send them silent with the tide where the ocean starts?
For the tide that is sent turns softly into rain in that space
And that rain falls merging with our tears upon our crying face