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In his space
ratmando
Moss Beach, CA Posts: 344
I'm looking out his windows, in his space, and seeing the nothing that I thought I was supposed to see.
But it's not nothing to me. It's everything to me. It's everything he was, and he smelled like, and thought.
It's his eyes now closed that won't open again.
It's his heart now stopped that won't beat again
It's his mind now quiet, that won't be frantic again.
And it lingers too much longer than it should.
They tell me I'm in shock, and that is expected after finding his thoughts now reflected on a single sheet, linen.
But the words just bleed. They mean nothing to me. I'm in his space where I at once felt freedom, binding me.
It's his laughter, now silenced that won't choke again.
It's his wisdom, now silenced that I can't hold again.
It's his breathing, a mantra that you can't hold this man.
And it's tearing me down more than it should.
I've followed down his trails, and stepped in his steps, and wondered if:
This could have been where he discovered things as I once had, in this space.
I've followed his brain patterns, and his banters and I blundered when
I was mastering his art, and his craft, and I would fall again. In his space.
The stage is darkened.
The mic is off.
The wind is howling, like astronauts- begging to come home again.
The moon is whitened blue,
The laughters ended.
That one time man, I once had befriended; now an echo, like my heart.
I've sat as lonely by the oceans tide, in this space, in his far and wide, and wondered where I was to fit in.
I learned to cry, by the Ocean's Beach, up by Rockaway, just blocks from that street, and wondered how his space must be.
His hand to hold, now clenched won't open up.
His heart to hear, will not lend that voice up.
His true words, no truer spake, ears I'd cup.
Twinkled blue of eyes welling deeply up.
The stage is darkened.
The mic is off.
The room once filled with happy, now screams a silent shout.
The doors are locked tightly
The laughters ended.
That place where I once befriended, now in his space, I'm lost.
-----------8/11/2014-------------------
But it's not nothing to me. It's everything to me. It's everything he was, and he smelled like, and thought.
It's his eyes now closed that won't open again.
It's his heart now stopped that won't beat again
It's his mind now quiet, that won't be frantic again.
And it lingers too much longer than it should.
They tell me I'm in shock, and that is expected after finding his thoughts now reflected on a single sheet, linen.
But the words just bleed. They mean nothing to me. I'm in his space where I at once felt freedom, binding me.
It's his laughter, now silenced that won't choke again.
It's his wisdom, now silenced that I can't hold again.
It's his breathing, a mantra that you can't hold this man.
And it's tearing me down more than it should.
I've followed down his trails, and stepped in his steps, and wondered if:
This could have been where he discovered things as I once had, in this space.
I've followed his brain patterns, and his banters and I blundered when
I was mastering his art, and his craft, and I would fall again. In his space.
The stage is darkened.
The mic is off.
The wind is howling, like astronauts- begging to come home again.
The moon is whitened blue,
The laughters ended.
That one time man, I once had befriended; now an echo, like my heart.
I've sat as lonely by the oceans tide, in this space, in his far and wide, and wondered where I was to fit in.
I learned to cry, by the Ocean's Beach, up by Rockaway, just blocks from that street, and wondered how his space must be.
His hand to hold, now clenched won't open up.
His heart to hear, will not lend that voice up.
His true words, no truer spake, ears I'd cup.
Twinkled blue of eyes welling deeply up.
The stage is darkened.
The mic is off.
The room once filled with happy, now screams a silent shout.
The doors are locked tightly
The laughters ended.
That place where I once befriended, now in his space, I'm lost.
-----------8/11/2014-------------------
When I hear music, I fear no danger. I am invulnerable. I see no foe. I am related to the earliest times, and to the latest.
Henry David Thoreau
Henry David Thoreau
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Comments
I like what you wrote!
May yours lessen over time.
Henry David Thoreau
and well-written
For whatever it's worth, you write beautifully and honestly, and not just poetry.
You did both him and yourself lovely justice.
Henry David Thoreau