Poetry

Remember, remember the 31st of October
The evil powder and pot
I know of no reason
Why his death by poison
Should ever be forgot

.~*~.

You, inside a cold box
Is the one picture I really ought to mount
Morbid, but it's an anchor to reality
You're never coming back; I'm just sick-sorry
The hurting never stops, and the disbelief
Hands in my brain keep groping about
Desperate to catch even just a wisp.
And when I read your life
The penult always leaves me holding my breath
Half-expecting, half-hoping
There's gonna be a twist in the end
But always, the nightmare delivers
Leaves me feeling angry and cheated.
Over a decade past, still the tragedy hasn't paled
Still people ask, the what ifs, what could've beens
Every now and then the mind indulges, pretends
No poison was spilled, the river doesn't run empty
No, you're just in another continent
Far and away from your 'big, bad city.'
And yes, the delusion, the temporary suspension
Would hold till the next time I behold
That grim picture of you, cold inside a box
... 

Tonight though, I lean against your wall
I haven't the heart to mount your photo
So instead, I listen to others talk
Of time machines and butterflies
The past, the future, and the fates
I say you should've lived
Some say you could've lived
Still others say, wishing so is just pure greed
Too soon or not makes no matter all
You were here once
and once should be enough, after all

~Sep 2010