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  You are @ HomeAdults Poetry

Poetry

Source: Adults

Author: jonny graham

Title: The Saddest Day.

The last month was quiet, maybe an omen, in retrospect.
Went out with Amee on a social, she had finished touring.
Smiles played the Archive, we went, we dug, we jigged.
Had drinks with Scratchey in the back afterwards.
Went round Isabella's place, Scotty was there, finishing the mixing up.
The new tracks sounded great, we all got really mellow.
Martin drove me home, we talked, we laughed,
dropped me off at my gaff,
just another ordinary Sunday evening,
socialised to the max but now happily alone.
Later, on the computer, typed up some stuff on sites,
spun some feedback, touched base with many mates,
and before crashing, as an afterthought,
checked out my message board
and saw the words: "Joe is dead".
So I e-mailed Tammy for clarification,
dazed and in a state of growing devastation.
Went to bed, struggled with sleep,
the mob started ringing it's nuts off
and I stumble muttered: " No...please God...".
And the waves of sorrow cut me hard
and seared me dark and deep.
Back on the computer, the e-mails started flooding in,
and the worst of fears came true, came home.
I had never felt so chasm-falling bottomless,
so completely bleak and all alone.
Hours later, me and Scratchey sat in stunned silence,
in the melancholy rain,
jammed on the M20 southbound,
twisted speechless by overwhelming disbelief
and heavy-hearted pain.
Giuseppe rang from Italy, I never really understood the conversation,
said he wanted to share his sadness with his English bro,
and my tears blurred my vision
as I drew aimless doodles in the window condensation.
Smiles called, he has such a lovely, kindly voice,
but this time cracked with crying too,
he said: " I thought Joe was indestructible, different from me and you".
And then the tears really started to roll, I felt like a complete wuss,
but it was strangely somehow beautiful,
as the rain pelted on the windscreen,
it seemed like the whole world was crying with us.
So we all met up at my place later
and reminisced about the intervening thirty years,
played acoustic songs on our old guitars,
and mixed vodka up to numb the pain of all the falling tears.
Then we reached a point of introspective silence
and in that powerful moment
I heard Joe's voice whispering to me:
"...come on kid...live true...stay free...".





Published on writebuzz®: Adults > Poetry
 

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