It was the day it all turned me away with the silence,
That I said:
“Hey,
Something isn’t right today,
Did you tell me you were going away?”
It all slipped, like the soap on the shower floor.
I can’t take the thought,
Of being forgot,
By people I once held dear,
A fear held by the masses,
But it’s still true, that everything passes on.
It’s what I learned from the clergymen,
Depending on what they said,
Read holy books and scriptures,
Telling me why I had to worship the sky,
And that man that lived in it.
I believe in the falsehood of the gods,
But lots of things have opened my eyes to what they really mean.
Togetherness is a sin in this modern world,
Unfurled, a flag of unity,
That can disconnect us all with the push of a button,
Mushed together like ants in a farm.
I’m so sorry to say,
That when I go away,
I will have spoken much and said very little.
Merrymakers don’t seem to realize,
That redeeming the soul,
Those cold,
On blustery summer evenings under willow trees,
Is hard.
Depart, feelings of discontent, because when you go away,
The typing of keys will lament,
Bringing forth a cacophony,
Divorced by feeling and devoid of emotion,
We’re oceans apart, now.
So I write a poem for you to remember me,
Because in your memories,
I’m nothing but a fading star.
At least with a little urging,
You can lurch into that feeling,
That feeling that you felt so long ago,
The one below your heart that fluttered when I said hello.
So I have nothing to believe in but false gods,
Applaud,
Wait.
Those who debate our very existence must be wrong.
Those who simply exist are right,
Because they fight for the will,
Not to live,
But to remember.
So I write,
And despite the cacophony,
When the dewdrops on your window,
Laugh at me,
A hundred different emotions spew forth,
Every one reflected on your window panes.
In a hundred years or so,
We’ll be old and broken bones,
Resting against each other,
Refracted by the heat of the slagheap.
Our bones will tell stories of grassy fields,
Stop signs to yield,
The yellow of the flower you gave to me in the park,
Hark!
The raven sings hoarse.
