Survival

I take a walk around the graveyard of my soul. 
Here are buried wishes; there, expired dreams. 
Elsewhere, heart-attachments are laid to rest, 
Withered away before they had a chance to live. 

I kneel at each grave in turn 
To cry a little, mourn a little, 
And hope that one of these might revive, 
Get a second shot at being realised. 

But when I reach the space where you lie, 
The prayers dry up along with the tears, 
And I whisper to God a word of thanks. 
In taking you, He brought me back to life.