Poem For Merry

Dedicated To A Great Friend

Author's Note: This piece is only one of a few poems I plan on publishing on this site. The friend who will be sorely missed.

Final Poem For Merry

Am I a ghost in your eyes?

In your cranium?

In your neighborhood?

In the smoke of the cigarettes of strangers who line the sidewalks

you used to walk

or in your thirst for those waters of the storming and gray seas

which you have looked into

making all your future plans?

Or I'm a just a finger print on your front window

which is dark now that your gone?

I still stagger through your waves

to find you through your back door

out on Long Island

in this

your final show

the exit of your last design

and your escape from the undertow

which was dragging you down

since you were 16

when you danced among birth control pills

of the ward cold embrace.

You were never going to be part of the after hour scene

wading through those newspapers yellowed by the torment

of a father who dove into alcohol’s cruelest ocean.

I knew you before the sound engulfed your streets.

Even then your tongue was devastated

all your words became as downed trees from an unfelt wind

scattered and reversing course every time you spoke

wishing you could escape your body and leave your name behind.

What remained was the bitter pain

Of finding your final cries replaced

by death’s serrated laughter

where even tears lose their silent voice.

And all the good times are now just flickering projections on your far nocturnal wall

Always moving in slow motion

As if the collapse of everything you trusted was deliberate

and always seemed to belong to someone else

anyone else

who knows the art of being fucked over

and survive

well.

As if all you ever knew was this eternal night that your skin

seemed to fit so well

with a hunger which

never could be denied.


Did you think you were going to be forgotten,
as if you were a strange and obscure idol consumed by the ever ascending wilderness

Shrouding you in vines and the honey suckle which permeated from your hair?

Surrender
that is the price of living in the night of the silent snow
and a soul on the take
for the treasures of a lesser majesty

You were never going to leave your ruin to anyone else

Or lend your escape to chance

as if it was your finest art at the end of your finger tips.

The snap of that rope fastened around your throat

You made sure

Cut that source off with the fierce kindness of gravity.

The light that flashed before your eyes

when you reached the end of your line

was no station

but was

every one of your cries

your screams

and the season of the wards

becoming as one in the supernova of what once was.

But Merry

in your waking hours which came

from being up far too long

did you ever consider finding a home

in the lighted room

where all your friends still gather

in your name

and where your cats still sit as witnesses to that fateful morning?

Comments 4 comments

agaglia profile image

agaglia 3 years ago

nice poetry. Interesting perspective.


Shyron E Shenko profile image

Shyron E Shenko 3 years ago

You should write more poems on here.

I write poems also. One of mine is a tribute to an angel. A Glimmer of Hope.


maab30 profile image

maab30 3 years ago from News And Art From The Left Author

Thanks Shyron. I have written several pieces on her. I'll read your piece as soon as time permits. Can you send me a link.


Shyron E Shenko profile image

Shyron E Shenko 3 years ago

"A-Glimmer-of-Hope-Tribute-to-an-Angel" I only write on HubPages.

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