The boys and I talked of things.
Late evenings by the water, we had our time -
Our own time apart from the world
Mostly, we spoke of living;
Once we covered death.
Calvin tossed a rock, just to throw.
No skip intended with that one,
As his gaze stayed fixed on the stars.
"Death," he muttered through clenched teeth.
"That shit is why I'm in this place."
Another rock sank into the deep.
Stones flew fast now, as his memories came.
He told of hunting with schoolhouse pals,
And how "I'm sorry, " has no power.
Toy guns in kids' hands are a way of life;
When they're not toys, that's a different case.
Tears flooded his young, old eyes.
" . . . accident," he mouthed with guilt.
Calvin stood in a snowy wood once,
Holding a rifle made for men.
He hadn't meant to shoot his friend.
Sometimes, when we smile at fate,
It doesn't smile back.
After that day, he fell to ruin,
From drugs consumed to ease the pain-
To forget that sound and smell and sight,
Of his bud lying in the pinking snow.
Now, the boy stood by the shore
With not much left to say.
I think of him often still,
Hoping he found a way to live again.
He wanted to die to make things right,
But I tried to help him lay down the weight.
I pray that piece by piece his burdens sank,
With each stone that drowned that night.
Tihs is not a memory that is in chronology with what I've previously posted. It's just a poem I wrote about some one I was thinking about this morning. Forgive the incongruousness with the community's purpose.