The day will never be forgotten
In the hearts of those who loved him
It was a normal day
In the heart of the young man
Who was later to be guided by his own destiny
The light blue Vauxhaul stands unscathed
As the dismantled scooter lies in its grave
Its rider lies in lands unknown
His spirit lives on in the eyes
Of those who have known
The darkest day arrives
Look upon the shadowy mist of their eyes
His Mother, Father, Brothers & Sisters
Did not foresee or dare to believe
That one so young, could die so cruel
Out of life he wanted not much
Just the feeling of certainty, security and love
His girlfriend of so long
Once shared these hopes with him
But now she stands pondering oh distant memories
His younger brother tries so disparingly
To shake off his tears of sadness
But his fondness and memories of him,
Beat hard in his shock filled heart
He shares with those who new him best
The joys and sorrows of his past
Twenty years is not long enough for man
To fulfill his dreams
He has foreseen so indearly
Too cruel to take away such life, hope and heart
Look upon the shattered faces of those around
Brings sadness to the hearts
Of those who knew him not
To say that he will be forgotten is scorned upon
His life, spirit and soul
Is engraved in the hearts of those who knew him
Mark Frederick Hitchen now lies peacefully in his own tranquility of solitude
And as we always remember
To live in the hearts we leave behind
Is not to die
His spirit listens intently
To think that no-one will ever harm him again
But we love and miss him all the same
Rest In Peace
I received this from a girl, 26 years ago, following the passing of the passing man - Mark Hitchen, aged 20. Recently uncovered as I trawled through some old 'stuff'. Should the world do its magic and anyone know this girl who befriended Mark and comforted him through his torment at the injustice of unrequited love. She was tall and blonde and probably around 18 years of age. I think she may have lived in Liscard, Wallasey, Merseyside. Written unedited from the original raw outpouring, the need to externalise that which hurts inside. Thanks Hello Poetry for giving new generations the opportunity for their thoughts to be shared and not put in boxes, that gather dust in the dark recesses of our minds.