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don-bouchardPoems
Cold settled in deep On him and their son, A poor fool, lost in his own world, Scarcely aware his mother was gone. The boy's father couldn't cope... Tried, but hope with her had died. Bankrupt faith, spent in futile prayer To cure the failing heart, Restore the lungs... A silent "NO" hung in the air, And she was gone. Her ashes flew home beside him. He went to pick up his son, Stopped for three fifths of Scotch... Proceeded to disappear, Proceeded to disappear, Proceeded to disappear. The house suffered under stench: Old ***** Excrement, ***** Spilled bottles, Cans scattered on the floor; Everywhere a sour putrescence. His son floated in and out of vision, Autism and inebriation: Two forms debilitation, No hope of equilibration. Neighbors made some calls... Social workers came, Took the son away. Death seemed a reasonable option. Leave the mess. Join his wife. End this ******* life.... Revolvers favor simplicity: Load the chambers, Snap the cylinder in place... Aim closely to remove his face. Muzzle up, Open mouth, Squeeze the hammer down... Only a clicking sound. Unusual, this... Aim at the ground, Squeeze off a round... Ears ringing from the sound. Raise the muzzle once again, Bite hard on steel, Squeeze the trigger down... Again, a clicking sound. Aim at the ground, Blam! Potent round... Set the revolver down. "Hello. 911. What is your emergency?" "Come get my gun; I'm trying to **** myself." Police arrive. He's still alive. Drunk and numb... They take his gun. Six weeks later, still in a haze, He's told his story. We are amazed, But still he's found no calm for grief. We struggle beside him, Waiting for some sign, Some reason why a gun Should fail to fire...twice. If you should read these words, my friends, Please speak a prayer for a lonely man. Ask for freedom from despair, For peace and letting go, For comfort and the hope of friends, For better ends. For better ends. For better ends.
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Feb 7, 2018
Feb 7, 2018 at 11:55 AM UTC
She left him in the fall
Cold settled in deep On him and their son, A poor fool, lost in his own world, Scarcely aware his mother was gone. The boy's father couldn't cope... Tried, but hope with her had died. Bankrupt faith, spent in futile prayer To cure the failing heart, Restore the lungs... A silent "NO" hung in the air, And she was gone. Her ashes flew home beside him. He went to pick up his son, Stopped for three fifths of Scotch... Proceeded to disappear, Proceeded to disappear, Proceeded to disappear. The house suffered under stench: Old ***** Excrement, ***** Spilled bottles, Cans scattered on the floor; Everywhere a sour putrescence. His son floated in and out of vision, Autism and inebriation: Two forms debilitation, No hope of equilibration. Neighbors made some calls... Social workers came, Took the son away. Death seemed a reasonable option. Leave the mess. Join his wife. End this ******* life.... Revolvers favor simplicity: Load the chambers, Snap the cylinder in place... Aim closely to remove his face. Muzzle up, Open mouth, Squeeze the hammer down... Only a clicking sound. Unusual, this... Aim at the ground, Squeeze off a round... Ears ringing from the sound. Raise the muzzle once again, Bite hard on steel, Squeeze the trigger down... Again, a clicking sound. Aim at the ground, Blam! Potent round... Set the revolver down. "Hello. 911. What is your emergency?" "Come get my gun; I'm trying to **** myself." Police arrive. He's still alive. Drunk and numb... They take his gun. Six weeks later, still in a haze, He's told his story. We are amazed, But still he's found no calm for grief. We struggle beside him, Waiting for some sign, Some reason why a gun Should fail to fire...twice. If you should read these words, my friends, Please speak a prayer for a lonely man. Ask for freedom from despair, For peace and letting go, For comfort and the hope of friends, For better ends. For better ends. For better ends.
Real time struggles. Pray for J----.
don-bouchard
Written by
don-bouchard
66/M/American
Feb 7, 2018
Feb 7, 2018 at 11:55 AM UTC
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