I am not Sally Morgan. I often write in the first person but she did inspire this poem and I did email her it before posting here
The living, they all gather.
They all begin to take their seats.
Hoping for a message,
albeit sad, joyful or even sweet.
They all want confirmation,
that their loved ones are not gone.
The their soul just left their body
and to another realm they all moved on.
Backstage people are busy,
preparing for the show.
They shout “Sally are your ready?”
“It’s time, we have to go.”
The energy is building.
The dead are coming through.
A lot of muddled visions,
waiting in a cue.
I walk onto the stage.
The spotlight is on me.
A crowd of anxious faces,
from both sides I can see.
I look into the audience
“I have a gentleman, his name is Bob.”
“Can anyone take this?”
“He’s making me laugh, he’s a right cheeky sawd”
A lady on the balcony,
stand up and takes the mic.
She says “I think you have my father,
of many issues he made light.”
“He says his passing was so quick,
their was no time to say goodbye.
He’s sorry that he hurt you,
he never wanted you to cry.”
The messages are flowing smoothly.
The night is nearly done.
I wish I had the time,
to give a message to everyone.
Some say this is a gift
others say it is a curse.
Some say that is all fake
and a way to line my purse.
I see it as a blessing,
to bring comfort and some peace.
For those trapped in their grief,
I give some form of release.
I feel so very privileged,
that this gift that I’ve been given.
To give comfort to the grieving
from their relatives in heaven
Written by Jerri42
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