Wherever He May Be Poem by Joe Fraccalvieri

Is my son alive in Heaven--
where the streets are ‘paved with gold'
Is he the way I remember him--
or has he gotten old

Is he among friends and family,
who, believed, had died--
living with them, and many more,
for whom I've grieved, and cried

Is he in a different place
whose streets are strewn with syringes
where nobody knows his face…
Sidewalks filled with homeless souls
devoid of God's holy grace

Garments that were made of satin and lace
replaced by burlap and wool…
And no matter how much
you might stuff your face,
your stomach never gets full

Oh how I hope that he's happy…
No matter where he is
And everything good and God-given
that shall not be forsaken--
I pray will then be his