This poem was written while thinking about my friend Mark, whom I lost a few year back. He was a great guy, but just got stuck somewhere along the line after some stuff happened. From the outside, my buddies and I were all sad that he never kicked out of it, but I do remember a talk him and I had one night over a couple beers, and he just kind of laid it all out for me from his side. It was interesting, to say the least, because after hearing him out with all of his explanations for things, it was clear that he had truly experienced something that for him, had no equal. I tried reasoning with him about the potential for similar or even greater experiences, but he already seemed to understand all of that. I didn’t really know what to say after that, because I had no real comparison for his loss. Eventually, time just took the guy and we lost touch.
While it was true that his experience aliened a lot of us to the brink, I can’t really say that it was all his fault. Maybe he did touch something that put the rest of his life in withdrawal, and maybe we lacked the patience and understanding to stay with him for the time he needed. I don’t know.
—
The Burn Lines of of Memory and Truth
Truth arrives with a violent, fiery light
Burning memories to ember, then ash, without mercy in sight.
Guard loving recollections with your body and soul,
But you too will vanish and erase as a whole.
In the moments following truth, debris will mark where you once stood
An outline of a proud man, hunched over and protecting a perceived greater good.
And no one can fault you for holding onto those dreams,
Where upon once we were all perfect, unabashed, still able to glean.
As the truth fades the past, you fade in your future.
Grasping tightly to your memories, soul bleeding-out without suture.
To live now, you must let go of that you hold dear,
Find new stories to lend meaning, and new people to keep near.
And a few will not waver and insist on the burn,
Incinerate, self-immolate, no lessons to be learned.
Troubled and misguided as those few people may seem,
I must warn you of casting judgement - noble, self-righteous, or in between.
For the bearers of that burden and level of conviction
Are not always lost, but found deep in depression.
Love and life may have deserted them in the times held most dear,
And try as they must, their memories are without peer.
So when truth comes, as perhaps it always will,
Stand fast, or stand aside, but never stand still.
You may walk away after, or burn in the light,
Move forward with friends, or grievingly disappear from sight.