Of The Pond

One of my best friends in junior-high, who I hadn't seen for years took his life. I walked the woods where he ended his life. He was so talented; a natural.

 

The pulsing white noise

Of creek water’s ebb & flow

Rushes inside my very head.

Like intermittent gusts of wind;

To & Fro

Scraping autumn’s leaves; a bloody red.

Falling out of trees

Into the creek’s watery bed.

 

Not far away a silenced trumpeter swan

Along with his image - upside down

Glides along the glassy pool

Toward the small Island

Of the Pond,

Leaving the wood, mysterious and memory full

Of childish days, and cutting school:

 

Your younger dreams of fronting a band

You and your guitar; and no mike stand

Joe played the melody, you played lead

In homage to Jimi; and his speed.

 

As every artist in search of his own

Builds on another he has known.

 

The drugs were leading you by the hand

Further, no higher, into no-man’s land.

It couldn’t have been the settling of a score

That silenced the music you so shortly lived for? 

 

Was there no one to sing out, Hey, where you goin’

-With that rope in your hand?

 

Never again to teethe your riffs.

Never again to eat blueberry pie.

Never again to put your Siamese kitten’s head

 Into your mouth -

And then laugh over her stymied cry.

Never again to feel the Cheshire smile of Theresa

Or embrace the warmth of Maureen

What tragic future had you seen?

Could no one afford you

-A place to fit in?

Or were friendships all in vein;

-As mine had been.

Was it some guilt-ridden debt

Of which no one knew? As for ending yourself;

I’ll keep the lighthouse lit 4 you.

Author's Note

no notes.

Reviews

[Brenda Sue]

So sad. Wonderfully worded. Great job.