1,097. Poem by Blessing Kalamatila

Looking back, a skill honed to perfection,
You, a page adorned in the gallery of my recollections.
Each brushstroke of memory paints the man you were,
A portrait in the museum of time, an enduring blur.

I envision heaven as a realm so divine, The same God you unveiled to us sent grace; an eternal sign
when He made that withdrawal of joy from his celestial account, a transaction soo profound

Your legacy, a lighthouse in the mist of life's sea,
A symphony of memories,
where your spirit continues to be.

They say time heals, but sometimes it feels like clockwork, stitching wounds with the threads of memories, each tick a bittersweet reminder.

If there was a way I could reach out to you,
Heaven's line might not have a ring, but your love echoes in every cosmic ping.
If I could go back in time,
I would revisit our laughter,
make our shared moments timeless, and redefine 'past' to mean 'present in every cherished memory.
If growth means acceptance and numbers don't lie, then in each digit(1,097) your eternal presence multiplies.