New Tears [about Grieving] If it rains or shines Little does it matter so? Days, like tear drops Slip and slide, and go. I sit looking out my window Little do I want to say? Goodbye and close my brain; Not forever, anyway!... At my door he still stands Holding roses in his hands, I look a little pale and sad Will he see me fair or mad? Note: A death is a death no matter which who you are, what color, or creed, you are affected. When the grieving starts and stops is different for everyone. Some grieve for days and cry. Some have delayed reactions. Some scream it out until the sorry deadens their faces and they can no longer stand up and hold themselves in balance with gravity of earth and even commit suicide, like Robert Howard, the great poet. Some lives are taken at a young age, many of my friends were. Some by stupid accidents, a 19-year old buddy of mine was taken that way; and a mother at 83-years old whom we lived together for 33-years. And so when I read the article in the paper of Derrick, the familys loss of their son over a stupid punch, it just brought back old memories of losses. I once was in a bar and it was a hot July day, and folks there were getting mad for simply reasons, it was July of l982, at the Gem bar in Minneapolis, and as I walked outside the bar, I heard a shot, and two guys ran different ways. And 12-minutes more passed, in that time the ambulance came took they slain person him to the hospital and he died, he died on the way to the hospital I should say. And the older I get, the more I see, and the more I see, includes death by anger and stupidly. But the poem I wrote, like the one I did in l982, is not for the dead, but for the living. [#729/6-11-05] |
