Death by Suicide

solitude

dust

fossils of family footprints

lost, trails from the mind’s sweat,

drunken blood

dark cold rain falling

cheapens any will left to survive, drenches

washes away the sweat,

bitterness

shackling

our eyes,

enslaving our voices

devouring will

only between dreams

chapters in books

is death reprieved

when breaths quicken

behind all the rubbish…

razorblades and bullets…

death will not allow alternatives

options, such as brilliance

logic

or some sweet memory,

and death never allows visions

improvised free rivers,

riffs-

never permits gardens,

perhaps weeds,

pastels,

fruit

perhaps bitter,

tears swimming along innocently,

perhaps vibrantly

no, this death incarcerates the heart,

strangles any inclination to imagine,

any passion to fly,

the urge to walk-

to seek sweet shelter…

this death violates the child inside us all!

yes, and this death flowers no angels

kids playing tag in driveways

hanging out late after baseball practice

opening and closing random lockers

pasting carnations into scrapbooks,

pigtails swinging

inkwells leaking

school bells banging

bonging

death only leaves behind puddles,

sinkholes,

hurtful feckless rumors

unbelief becoming gloom,

leaves behind those “wh” questions

haunting we survivors,

somnambulists

torpidly searching for

splinters to pick up,

where to place them,

how to rebuild a life lost,

leaves behind strangled voices that linger

eternally unanswered

echoing back at every turn

tragic questions without mouths-

answers minus zero

so this death will linger

long past the crowds

beyond countless holidays

cardless anniversaries,

way past gated rooftops

clotheslines

fresh baked bread

green blueberry fields,

and at last this loss

will solidify around our eyes

till we cannot recognize

our own visions profound,

and will seal our purple lips

till we may not ever taste honey drops,

and will mute our listening ears

till we cannot hear our parents’ laughter

or recognize our baby’s first song…

snow dripping from a tree

wending along into the gutter,

and it is only then

when we shall at last understand

that we must not understand such things

we cannot understand,

because within this death

Life is

always there

in the way

6/6/17

Port St. Lucie