The worst thing that ever happened to me, happened in 2013.
You were one of the most wonderful people that I've ever seen.
Your death hurt me so much that for a while, I lost the ability to even think.
You were taken after being a part of my life for forty-one years and that stinks.
For a long time after your death, I felt miserable and all tore up on the inside.
The worst thing that ever happened to me, happened on the day when you died.

04:14 and the shadows are long
A boy pressed into a rail-side bench
Raises his arms to shelter himself
From the cloudless sky
He ticks off seconds with the twitch of his left knee
And the jump of his unhinging jaw
He falls
He falls nowhere
But flat, back, motionless in his seat
Hands cocooning head like a heavy day’s work
And then digging up and pressing down
Trying to rid himself of the sounds
Which splice him like glass shards
Or screaming shrapnel
And mutilate
His view of a pretty English station
And a blue steam engine
Beaming like the moon for which it was named
04:18 and he sets himself straight
Like ***** shoelaces
Or cards on the mantelpiece
Winds a bit of string
Around his wedding finger
And croons
As a man inside a toddler
Re-wired refrains
Lick his lips like soup stains
       Pack up your troubles…
                Long way to Tipperary…
        In your old kit bag…
                                 I wonder who’s…
                My heart’s right there…
                                 Kissing her now…
         Smile, smile, smile…
And from my compartment
I watch him fade like
An ink blot from a pillow case
While a boy who looks a lot like him
Turns with purposeful avoidance
And takes the opposite view
Of a pretty English station
He soothes the angry creases
Of his forehead
Of his uniform
And smiles
Smiles
Smiles
And mutters to himself
And they said it would be over by Christmas
04:14 and the shadows are long
A boy pressed into a rail-side bench
Jogs his knees
With the obligatory poppy
His mum pushed into the zip of his winter coat
Drooping like a hangnail
He is busied and hassled
By the phone in his palm
It plays an odd kind of game
Where those who die
Are allowed to come back
And press *Retry

Silent like the waves in a storm.
She looked at the clouds drowned out by the thunder.
The tarmac was warm,
But the warmth was fading into a numb canker.

She closed her eyes,
Or were they closed for her.
A question others realized,
Was now pointless to make clear.

The answer could not save.
Only shock.
Silent like the wave in the storm,
On the rocks.

We are buried under the sand.
for us, no sun-kissed June day,
no moistness of a morning dew,
no soothing waves between our toes,
no jubilant trumpet to herald our return,
no voice to cheer freedoms new dawn,
we are forever buried under the sand.

© H V Swan

You were not a role model.
You were hilarious
but ******.
You were happy
but dark.

You suffered.
You fought.
You played the waves of a deep depression.
Eventually, you lost.

You put on a show.
The show.
You made yourself into anything
to get a laugh.
You created an icon.
Of comedy.
Of love.
Of strength.
Of comedy.

You were not a role model.
But you are a pillar of selflessness.
Your shadow shines bright.
A figure of darkness
Echoing what it means to live
Until time is up.

I don’t know you behind your mask.
I don’t know what resides in you Birdcage heart.
But,

What Dreams May Come
is up to you now, old friend.