Poetry Archives

Listening as your last breath hovers
the despairing exodus we all enter,
of lost dreams, remorse’s murmur
recalling sharply an accustomed life.

Your long expected escape route
we’d all mapped out for you; friends
helping, trying to spot trends
perhaps to slow your last journey.

Were we to blame?  Was there a sign?
The itch beneath that’s always raw,
the drying skin wrenched and sore
with the terrible ache of pleasure.

How many attempts?  This truly an end?
How you’d have laughed to see us here
once more pandering to your lure:
this was folly not your grand adventure.

And why this way, the corrosive salts
that burned?  The damage now severe
that’s stopped your voice, that leer
that still belittles us, your friends.