I have friends who aren’t visible. Does that make me
An odd person perhaps because only children
Are allowed such a pleasure? Am I of ill mind
To believe that there are spirit beings assigned
To my life? Do these questions deserve an amen?
Does it matter that my friends are out of body?

These playmates of mine enrich my life immensely.
They’ve a great sense of humor and they take delight
When I take my life not so damned seriously.
They remind me of who I came to earth to be.
They alert me when everything isn’t alright.
These beings some consider imaginary.

“What’s my work while I’m here on earth?,” often I ask
And I’m told, “Being Human.” I get to define
What that is for myself. My personality
Is a tool and the most minuscule part of me.
I learn much from these invisible friends of mine.
Personality, they remind me, is a mask.

About death I have asked them every now and then.
They say it’s absolutely safe. It’s like taking
Off a tight shoe. Now how would they know such a thing?
It’s because they were human and they’re offering
What they can out of kindness. The wisdom they bring
To my life gives me comfort again and again.