Even the darkest night is followed by mo(u)rning

Buckets filled with tears,
          filled with effort and sweat,
            blood and exhaustion,
will fill a well-used life,
                                like a small apartment with a leaky roof.
This apartment is dark,
                                         dreary, and nothing more could fit.
Pain is written on the walls,
  stress lines the floorboards.

Sure, you could move to a new place,
    one with clean walls,
                  empty spaces to walk,
    a TV with satellite,
    but you stay in this dark hole in the wall,
because it's yours.

Through all the sweat,
                     the buckets filled with negativity,
       the dreams turned to nightmares,
a single droplet, glistening like the sun,
         appears to descend, stopping

just beyond your reach.

No matter how many buckets, tables and chairs you pile up,
it sits, staring down at you.

One day, this hope,
        this unprecedented sense of achievement
     falls,
  landing softly on your tongue.

The taste is unlike any other,
   and the pain melts away.
      The blood, sweat, the tears,
         all become necessary.
The dingy apartment
     is well-lit, clean,
     and the pursuit of this perfect droplet
becomes The ideal.
This second of sweetness
                      makes bitter fade to memory,
                      makes the darkness warm and bright,
illuminating existence.

I know it’s selfish
... but I wish you spent six weeks in a hospital bed.
I wish that I could have spent seven fifty on parking slips
every day for those six weeks
Just to say goodbye,
properly.

I wish that hospital smell
grew familiar in my nostrils.
that I could walk the route with my eyes closed
to room whateveritis
and sit in a familiar chair,
slowly watching,


waiting,


for you to die.

I wish you had a nice view out your window

one filled with trees,
one that birds flew in front of regularly
because you loved watching them.

I wish I didn’t leave you
drinking merrily with friends
joking about everything
because I wanted to spend your last moments by your side.

I wish I could have observed your strength




slowly fading



as your smile was
quick to appear.

I wish we could have talked
once more would have done
although I wish that conversation could last forever.

I wish you could have ******* about hospital food
like you did when you were sick before,
and I wish we could have laughed about it.
         wish we could have joked about sneaking beer into the hospital.

I wish the beeping of hospital things drove away silence.

I wish we could have stared at the ground
as we discussed life,
death
and other important things.

I would have wished

that it wouldn’t have been awkward
but we would have known
what to do with your ashes...

Instead of leaving them on top of your sound system
and never looking at them.

I wish you were able to stand with us today
instead of swimming in a pool of regret,
instead of somewhere else.

I just wish you didn't die

and take a part of us with you.

all of these Important
people
walking to and from their Important
jobs,
talking on their Important
cellphones
about the upcoming Important
meeting...
   i
   n  
   t
People
   r
   t
   w
   i
   n
   e
   d

with their Important,
            complicated lives.

Their importance
           showing through their fancy attire, their better-than-you attitude.
   If they're all so IMPORTANT,
Why is it that I feel like I stand apart,

in my jeans and t-shirt?

I had an idea
that guns should shoot in both directions when fired,
to rid the world of assailants intent on


killing

another human being.

To the public, I still think
                   this an effective method.
To military men and women,
                   this is no solution.

           They fire on orders,
they fire on enemies of the state
they fire because they have to.

I think that for every shot fired on an 'enemy',
                           politicians should be shot.
Non-fatal, of course.
   Just a warning,
                 so these decision makers
                   can truly understand the

                                      cost
of war.

I remember that night you met my dad.
     I'd packed it away,
                  like one of the boxes that mom put in the storage locker,
         only to one day bring it back
when I need it most.

I'm not sure I need it most now,
                                             but here it is.
I remember after dinner,
my dad talked to us for about an hour.
And I told him we were going for a walk,
because he was a little drunk,
       and he loved to tell his stories.
I remember standing at the lookout,
                             my arm around your waist;
I knew I loved you then,
     but I didn't say it.
That was a perfect moment,
                           forever in my memory

But if I had known it was the first and last time
you'd meet my dad,
I'd never have mentioned that walk.

For another average moment with both
                            you and my dad,

             I'd throw away that perfect walk,
that beautiful sunset.