You'll never see this.
Jesus Christ, There is a finality in that.
I can't believe you're gone.
I can't believe you'll never see this.
I'm going to miss you.

I know it's flat sounding
but it's true.
You'll never know the impact
you had on my life,
how important it was
that I knew you.

You once said to me that
you were trying to build me
into something greater.
“A better Bonsai tree.”
I hated you more than I ever hated
anyone in that moment.
But the wisdom of your
words has shined through.

Though your hand was not there,
and was in fact joined by others,
my roots have been tended,
my branches bent in ways
subtle and amazing.
I stand this Earth as,
while not a lovely small tree,
a mature and compassionate man.

You will never know the
way you've crafted me.
You'll never know how I've
grown because of you.
You'll never see this.
There is such ******* finality in that.

I once reached into the skies
to pull down the light that
would serve to guide your way.
I was never asked.
I once tender hard labor,
and the lashings of crooked teeth
and stained shirts
to find for you the bauble
you so requested.
I grew old under your
careful tutelage,
until such an age I reached that
the hair grew thin and the
spittle became obvious.

O' the wonders you found in me.

I was such a shell
in the time before we fell,
cradling each other through the shakes
like new born babes,
to the Earth.
Together we found lost
realms which we would hide away
from keen eyes and pointed
questions.
Together we squandered our
time and our money on things
we called our adventures.
If only to smell the sweet
lavender and honeysuckle of
your skin, freshly bathed.

I once crossed a canyon on foot,
such days of thirsty work,
to bring you back the sunshine
we would rub into our smiles.
I was not asked.
I once learned the quick, dutiful
motions of a trained glassblower
so that I might make for you
a thing as beautiful and fragile
as yourself.

It is here, as the skies we once reached
grow dim that I find,
after all the effort and all the
painstaking labor that,
together as we promised,
our greatest work is rewarded.

I have waited my entire life
to disappear when a truck rolls
by in front of me.
One day I will vanish.
I'll be gone and no one will
ever know of my exploits after
my stage exit. No one will ever know
because when the truck is gone
so will I be.

I want to fix this small world
we share. Dig out all of it's tiny
problems and over blown drama.
Work so hard to break it down and
build it brand new and better.
They will all want to thank me.
Praise my altruism.

But the truck already rolled by.
They will wonder if I'm somewhere new
fixing other people's worlds
and expecting nothing but a sudden
and final exit.

But no one will ever know.
The job is done.

I remember your vigor.
You used to pick me up
and spin me around your head.
The sheer masculinity of it
was nothing short of
inspiring.

“Tomorrow, I'll wear it tomorrow.”

Now I watch as you sit,
reclined and growing.
Your hairline seems to move
more every day.

Were your ankles always so thin?

We eat in silence these days,
in halls once filled
with laughter.
The spoons are too short,
or perhaps the bowl is simply
too far away.
It's so hard to tell.

“I'll put it on one of these days.”

That tie you used to wear
lays on the bedside table.
I asked you to wear it
not too long ago, thinking
it would force you to remembered
the man you once were.
It lays there still

I stand in front of the mirror
for far too long everyday
and wonder if you see in me
the decline I've seen in you.
My arms used to be so strong.
We used to be so strong.

I hate that ******* tie.

The wind beats out it's
slow steady song
through this hollow city.
We were told to expect rain.
Half a pack in and still
nothing.
I saw lightning hit water once.
It awed me in ways nothing
has since.The power of nature.
It changed me.
Nothing profound, just a simple
muted difference in me.
You never noticed.

The buildings act like instruments,
played like expert jazz musicians.
I sit here in the window,
as the smoke makes it's lazy
circles around my hand.
It could almost be playful
as the music of the wind reaches
yet another crescendo of
awesome power.

I remember bruised nose and scraped
knees,bee stings and Popsicle sticks.
I remember when snow was not
another in an ever growing list
of enemies.

I focus on the trash cans and bits of
paper. They dance in the music
like manic asylum residents.
I have to concentrate on something
or I'll be alone with a declining pack
and these kiss shaped scars.

We were told to expect rain.
I fell asleep waiting for it.
The ashtray was left overflowing
and the wind never let up.
Like a lullaby it rocked me gently
as my mind wandered.
I missed the rain.

I saw lightning strike water once.
It could change me again.

They were wrapped in anything they could find.
The wind biting at them,
as the rain pelted every layer of cloth
they had swaddled themselves in.
It was difficult to remember
what brought them there in the first place.
To this monument of forgotten men and monsters.

Once upon a time they would gather,
all their materials put together
in the center of the room,
as the game went on.
It was always the same game
in those sepia toned days.

Now they stand there, trying to
cry for a fallen friend,
but unable to fight back the betrayal
in their hearts. Their words were hollow
,their strength had wanned.
The rain mingled with the dirt.

They had once discovered the fairer ***.
Hormone driven conversations
about the lurid things they would do
if ever given the chance.
Caught up in the notion that *** was
somehow life. Somehow it would
make them men.

Men now stood where
there should have been boys.
Only days ago
they were children. How could it
be misread so badly?
They assumed that growing up was
going to be slow, and fueled by wild
nights and the women who would
come and go. Now, in the rain stained
world they find themselves in as men,
it only took mutual tragedy.

When we were children we used
to pull the blankets up to our chins.
Repeating the same tired mantras
again and again, the more we can
repeat it, the more it will ring of truth.
“I'm alone in this room.
There is no such thing as monsters.”

The world is on fire.
I wasn't sure if you had heard.
We used to walk these gardens,
before the flames arrived
to steal our memories of this place.
I used to think it was heaven.

Our lake.

I always thought you
would sit beside me.
Thought you would watch with the
same pent up rage as they
destroyed all that was pure.
You always hated when I
skipped stones, as though somehow
I had tarnished the surface of our lake.

Our lake.

What have we done?
You were never so far away.
Once I could reach out and
feel you there,next to me.
You made the wind beautiful.
I don't know if I ever told you that.
It seems a silly thing to think of now.

Our lake.

The world is on fire.
In no small part because of us.
I wasn't sure if you had heard.
I don't know how else to tell you.
I wasn't sure how else to put it out.