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Just for a while, when I was staring into the night, I thought of you and something in my chest slipped a little closer to the dark side of my eyes.
And in that moment, when things were just at a place, a resting spot that appears comma-like in it's intensity of pause, I remembered that shining morning in the summer sun.
Two alone, with laughter to float between us, an emerald sea out past the turquoise shallows, and without a worry of anything each other might do, say or play.
Into this vision, this childhood's blissfully ignorant milieu, a weight of led, like a comet burning brightly in the sky, moving yet still, welled up and crashed over us. They were three little words, but with so much behind them that their size dwarfed us both and the beach and the ocean and the ocean of stars hidden behind the sun's rays above.
Three little words that, in half remembered context, half forgotten subtext, were more potent than any ever spoken, and yet in ways I couldn't, wouldn't and didn't understand. The times were young, but they were hard too, and in such a state I listened to them, listened to you.
And in an instant, you were gone. The beach and sky and stars were all empty places, forelorn of the graces of our smiling faces. It was into all of this that I poured myself from, and into a mold of iron and anger and stiff upper lip. Twenty years would pass before I again could relive that day, that hated, adored moment of bitter bittersweet and all to insistent reality.
And then, one fine morning, many years too soon, I find that there's no room upon the hill. And again I find my gaze traveling over the distant mountains of the moon, despising it's dark side as I have embraced my own.
You're silence is permanent now, echoed by a plinth of stone and a piece of hallowed earth. But the chimare, the dream-scape, the memory of a time before will haunt me, as you do not, until my own internment in the villiage of the past. I will not willingly join you early, my own race still a long path from done.
But now I understand. What we lost, what we found, what we never even knew existed beneath the skin of what we knew before. And in that I am both upset and comforted by the fact that we never had much more than just friendship and trust. Because what I do feel would be much worse now that you are gone.
Thank you, Kenny, for having been my friend, my confidant and my inspiration when we were young, and for being the hero you were while you lived, and for dying as nobly as you lived. If only we all had that courage. Rest now, my friend, your labours are done.
It's not the wolf you see you should fear, but all the ones he howls with. Don't be afraid of the song, but don't piss off the choir.
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timmy
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Has no life at all |
Location: UK, in Devon
Registered: February 2003
Messages: 13800
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No Message Body
Author of Queer Me! Halfway Between Flying and Crying - the true story of life for a gay boy in the Swinging Sixties in a British all male Public School
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No Message Body
my void does not want.
-- 2.13.61.
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smith
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On fire! |
Registered: January 1970
Messages: 1095
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No Message Body
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I feel that a little explaination is in order. The Kenny this refers to was a childhood friend. Actually, a childhood best friend, in all the ways that a best friend is a best friend. We have been separated by many years now, and I only discovered that he had died a while back. He died earlier this year, not during the sad events of Sept. 11th, 2001. But he was still a hero of sorts. A med tech who died while trying to save a life.
He was a good bit of the inspiration for the Kenny in Coupe. He was one of the first people I ever had deep feelings for, sexual and amicable. He was one of a kind, and we are all diminished for having lost him. I am told that he was just the same person he was when I knew him his whole life, which is rare and a gift indeed, because even as a kid, you could tell there was something special about Kenny.
So, I'm sorry if this poem pulls the heart strings a little tight and abruptly, but, you know, I just had to get it off my chest. I've sort of dedicated Coupe to him, now. I think it's the kind of story he'd have marveled at and kept at me to tell the next part. And to that memory and that goal, I'll hold.
It's not the wolf you see you should fear, but all the ones he howls with. Don't be afraid of the song, but don't piss off the choir.
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I'm so glad you shared that with us. Thank you
Brian
To love oneself is the beginning of a life-long romance.
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not for how you feel, and certainly not for getting things out that you have to, or want to.
good thoughts and a white candle for you, d'art.
my void does not want.
-- 2.13.61.
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marc
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Needs to get a life! |
Registered: March 2003
Messages: 4729
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Not by time or location or circumstances.... I can feel the warmth you have in your heart for Kenny.... It is special indeed.... I am sure he is watching over you....
Oh and one more thing about friends.... You never have to appologize for being true to your feelings....
Life is great for me... Most of the time... But then I meet people online... Very few are real friends... Many say they are but know nothing of what it means... Some say they are, but are so shallow...
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Tribute to a fallen friend and an innocent hope....A poem 
