Final Morning Whisper

Aside

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Tchaka,

It was really hard for me to write after your accident.  I mean, I’d write a page or two, that was easy, vomiting my feelings onto paper, but the process of organizing artistic ideas, the way the painter paints his feelings without painting exactly what it is that is causing him so much pain or joy.  This poem that I wrote, it goes along with a short story.  Both are the first pieces I’ve written since you left us.  The story is about pain and loss, but its not about a guy who loses his friend and mentor in a bicycle accident.  The poem is not inspired by you or your life, it’d be a much happier poem if it were.  It is inspired by the pain of fighting battles against the world with the weight of grief heavy in the heart.  

 

Final Morning Whisper

 

The days continue on,

But the pain refuses to move,

or to even calm.

 

The sea is dying

 

It’s mistakes superate the surface,

Blood dripping from an open mouth.

Mountains move with avalanches

Rejections of purity,

Mocking our memories

Of harmless childhood snow fights.

The caves of the world are not empty

But our egos blind us

To the sanguinary regrets

That saturate the earth’s sacred chasms.

 

We do not allow ourselves

The knowledge that the blackness

Will one day swell

And swallow

All we have known.

We will not acknowledge

The horror that has happened

Until we hear

The final morning whisper

Of the last blood orchid.

 

-Captain Sparkles

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