My Locket from Grandad

My locket.
The clicking, the world simple,
Life was easy, but it must change.
I must move on.

The smooth oval against my fingers,
Like the stroke of a paint brush
The golden sheen, reflecting the feeling of receiving it.

As he began life in the world above, the sheen dulled.
The realization of his death hit me,
like a punch to my stomach.
I was emotionally winded
Nothing could relieve my pain.

The dents and scratches soon became more apparent
But I came to peace with myself.
Today I hold the locket in my hand
I let the gritty chain slip through my fingers.
I will always have the memory of him in my heart.