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2 months, 3 weeks and a day: a poem

Updated on January 30, 2010

2 months, 3 weeks and a day.

So how longs it been now since you last touched her face,

And heard her sigh your name?

And how longs it been now since you last remembered?

2 months, 3 weeks and a day...

And all the time it's down and down and down.

You're going all out on alcohol- or anything that makes you smile-

Or anything that takes the pain away.

So how longs it been now since you danced for the world?

Since you sang to the Earth, and cried.

And how longs it been now since whispered words in the dark

Brought you that soft reply?

And all the time it's round and round and round.

There was a time in life when you learned to laugh

But quicker still you learned to cry-

And all alone such happiness was left

To fade

And die.

So how longs it been now since you learned how to live

And never looked into the past?

And how longs it been now since you looked in the mirror-

And saw no broken glass?

Further thoughts and dedication

This poem has a charming story behind it, please allow me to share it with you.

This is probably the first truly original piece of work that I have posted on Hubpages; for no other reason than that recently I have been focusing more on article writing as opposed to poetry or fiction as is my tendency. The poem was one of the first that I was ever actually proud of in any way, and holds a special place in my heart for more than one reason.

I once knew a man through a drama group I was part of. He was an elderly gentleman who was kind, warm-hearted and loved his garden. It may be odd that someone so young as me could experience any kind of true friendship with a 70 year old man - but there you have it. At the time the drama group were doing particularly well and touring shows up and down the country, and over the course he helped me loads with my vocal and breathing work, as well as my confidence levels. He was a lovely person and lived a quiet life with his lady-friend living in the same street. After I'd known him two years it transpired that his lady friend (who was also a friend of mine, and who had recently recovered from breast cancer) was informed that her cancer had returned and she had six months left to live. Naturally he asked her to marry him - but she refused. There was another gentleman who asked her first, and who lived way up in the Highlands - and she had already accepted. My friend was broken-hearted.

She lasted two months into her married life. When he heard the news that she had died he was never the same again. He died not long afterwards. The Doctors came up with a feeble excuse but we all knew that he had died of a broken heart. The last time I had a proper conversation with him he was in tears; he kept saying that he had lost her twice.

This poem is dedicated to the memory of Lex. I will never forget you.


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