telling
me that you had no choice.
That
there was nothing left to do.
That
your world had gone from black to blue.
Do you have nothing left to hide,
there
on the other side?
No
more secrets, no more lies,
no
more need for alibis?
Was there nothing I could say
to
make you want to stay?
Did
you really have to go?
That's
what I want to know.
*Note:
While the poem above was written shortly after learning of the
death of my childhood friend in 2004, the one below was written
sometime later. My old friend struggled with
both addiction and a mood disorder. I played rhythm guitar for him in
eighth and ninth grade and in exchange he taught me how to play lead
guitar and bass; he played with breathtaking virtuosity. He went on
to become one of the finest jazz bass players in the Twin Cities.
Sadly I lost touch with him after I left Minnesota in the mid
seventies and was never able to carry "the message" of
recovery to him; that regret echoes in the lines above. What a
loss...
SHE ONCE BELIEVED IN HAPPY ENDINGS
Once a stone has been dropped
I met him in the eighth grade.
but he was always kind.
Years later a storm blew in.
Each night his mother longs to dream of her only son,
Once a stone has been dropped
into
the depths of a green and living pond,
it
cannot be recalled, the action cannot be undone;
it
has become a part of that green continuum.
Reality
has been changed,
altered,
rearranged.
I met him in the eighth grade.
He
took LSD on the weekends and was already
a
guitar virtuoso.
He
loved the early Yardbirds, jazz and blues.
He
taught me how to jam.
He
once fired me from a junior high band
but he was always kind.
Years later a storm blew in.
Voices
roared in his head.
He
wanted to banish them to the darkness.
But
how could he win
against
such a big wind?
Where could he begin?
Where could he begin?
Wishes
changed nothing.
So he
taped his ID
to his wrist and put a gun
to his wrist and put a gun
to
his head
and
squeezed the trigger until he was dead.
Each night his mother longs to dream of her only son,
before
the voices and the gun.
She
once believed in happy endings
but no more,
but no more,
not
without her son,
not in a world undone.
not in a world undone.
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