HE ALWAYS WAS CALLED THE ODD BOY,
THE THIRD MEMBER OF OUR UNEVEN LITTLE FAMILY.
HALLS OF KNOWLEDGE BOOKED US A ROOM MARKED CLEVER BANDITS,
YET DEATH PROVED US SMARTER.
COOLEST FOOLS INSIDE THE HOT CRUEL REALITY OF FICTION.
HE WAS THE COMIC RELIEF OF OUR TRAGEDY.
BOTH OF US HELD ONTO HIS JOKES GRIPPING THE SATIN COVERINGS.
OLIVE OILED FINGERS STAINING WITH THE HELP OF GENTLE BREEZES.
CHAFFED SKIN STINGING, WIPED ONTO SPRINKLED RAIN GRASS,
MUD PACKED FISTS REFRESHING THE BITING MINTY RASHES.
UNDER THE CAKE OF MUD LIES HIS BURIED CORPSE.
LAUGHTER TICKLING THE ROUGH PATCHES,
SCABBING OVER THE HURTS.
COMEDIANS NEVER REALLY DIE,
THEY JUST LINGER IN OUR EARS LIKE A SURFER ON THE WAVES,
WAITING FOR A GOOD TIME TO TAKE A WAVE.
THE WATERS CREATED BY OUR TEARS,
LOVING WITHOUT THINKING,
BREATHING IN THE LAST AS WE WERE MEANT TO,
NOT AS THEY WOULD HAVE US BREATHE,
NO WE DON'T GASP OR HOLD IT UNTIL WE ARE GOING TO FAINT,
WE BREATHE EASILY, CALM SHALLOW,
IN HIS DEATH OUR ODD BOY, FUNNY GUY, HAS BROUGHT US FREEDOM.
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Climbing Up Out Of The Ashes
PoetryA Poetry Collection About The Dark Side Of Falling In Love With The Wrong Person And Making Your Way Out Of The Fire...Breath by Breath...Exhaling The Smoke & Breathing In Fresh Air Again. #100poemsin100days challenge beginning August 21- November 2...
