When you’re gone, you’re away, you’re far,
When you’re never close to wipe bitter tears at night,
When emptiness & loneliness eats me bit by bit,
When not a day goes by I don’t feel cold, ill and misfit…
Andy whispers “hey”, and then speaks to remind me,
“Issa, get busy living or get busy dying,”
“Hope is a good thing, maybe the best of things,
And no good thing ever dies.
Tears would then silently spill on my cheeks,
Without a slight bad or uneasy feeling along,
A deluge of hope revisits to revive my poor soul,
Uplifting my spirits, helping me stand and walk.
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