His silence he now shares with his brothers.
No naked flame held to light his way,
Carried by offspring, mothers, or lovers,
He finally reached that end of day.
Now, the tide of aching has faded and ebbed away.
Colour drained, pray, beg, hope he sleeps in peace.
He left no epitaph, he’d said all he could say,
His tether’s end became his last release,
Freed from the voices and their daily play.
No more bargaining with the devil, no more price to pay.
Did you see the screams reflected in his eyes?
Did you hear the torrents thunder through his head?
Did you hold him, feel him, slipping to his demise?
Stop! It was never your choice for him to be dead.
Wear not the cloaks of guilt and blame when you tend his final bed.
We are left to wonder at the anguish and at the cost,
Of a hidden, silent, stolen, generation that is lost.
Missives & Musings 