Lover, yesterday it began
I ran- there was this cute little one
Drowning…
A pickled heart, dying,
I got curious why,
Was it time enough?
Well, there was something crazy
I had overlooked,
When I quit on one,
Leave everything
And restart
With a heart,
That has seen everything
I would know love
And cleaning up!
A woman, mine for long
That I hate her is alright
That I love you is also
Something true
A fright
Would money matter-
Or her,
Would she cry?
I saw a man who died
Only yesterday, he had left hospital
Cured,
But a weak heart
Today,
Sick of alcohol
Never mended
And of course
With him, romance died!
He had a lovely scrawny crying woman
Who asked why
The lover won over him
When she just tried
Sex
And had a child,
Ten years old
When they took him away,
His face in the sheet that brought him in
Declared DOA
As the ambulance took him home
Uncertified
No post mortems
But lover,
I tried
Always…
It was a game we loved to play!
Tell me
How many more
Would I love-
Beyond tonight
When you take my poems away?
The Muse came to me in a hospital as I waited for the surgeon outside Casualty/ER. This man had been brought in dead, of a heart attack! I wondered, stared at the wife, stoically braving the bleakness that had surrounded her. I asked the hospital superintendent, a friend, about him! Then he told me his story... a philanderer, drunkard, lover, father, husband... and I thought yet a man who had a world of his own, now lies covered in a shroud!
Where were his poems now?
6 comments:
Interesting poem - nice to read the backstory, too!
love hearing about the inspiration ... where were his poems now?
indeed.where?
jp/deb
:( really heart touching
so sad but a gift that even though his life wasn't stellar, a complete stranger created something beautiful because of it.
Thanks also for the backstory, but I liked the etherealness of the poem itself and the story it told from first person. I wasn't quite ready for that last line until I reread the poem in the context of the backstory. Lovely.
We all have a story and what we hear, or share, is usually only a part of it.
His poems are where ours will someday be so we'd better make the best of the game, eh? ;)
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