When we were together 

all those years ago, 

staring at a grainy TV screen,  

but thinking we were  

watching a cinematic  

tour de force, 

atmospheric and beautiful,  

you had your visions of 

who you wanted me to be —  

a witty, loquacious knight  

in shining armour 

with a Rabelaisian edge who  

was creative and spontaneous,  

or an optimistic  

tavern bard who entertained 

and loved his audience,  

and I had my ideas  

of who I wanted you to be — 

someone who didn’t punish  

me for being this brooding,  

introspective loner,  

someone who cared and  

didn’t just put up a façade, 

someone I could introduce 

to my family without  

judgmental glares 

and gavel wielding.  

We were  

broken beyond repair,  

but masked our hurt  

with inside jokes, asinine  

sarcasm and gossip.  

But as age melted into age  

like the first song  

of a concept album seamlessly 

merging with the next,  

those forces beyond our  

control showed their  

demonic faces, streaked 

red and black, 

and haunted us with  

visceral cries urging us  

to give into those  

dark places within   

and plunge into the void.

I fought them passively,  

and still do, and I don’t  

know how, but you  

waged war, scratching and  

clawing them with a feral rage 

until it burnt you out,  

left you hollowed out,  

wishing on a shooting star,  

screaming for mercy.  

Everything fades eventually, 

blue meets grey,  

and red meets black,  

but when they told me that  

you died the way you did  

yesterday, I didn’t know  

what to feel as I pictured  

your aunt shedding crocodile 

tears, and your

drunk uncle making  

a scene, the people who 

brought you up, but also  

destroyed you. I was selfish  

because I didn’t reach out,

but selfless because reaching  

out would have made us  

rehash the past, arguing  

over whose fault it was,  

the usual toxic blame game,  

the sorrowed narcissistic  

victimhood owning,  

wearing our tears like 

gold medallions or worse, 

garlands. We didn’t love  

each other, but we could  

have loved each other as  

friends, and perhaps  

helped each other carry  

those weighty tomes 

of regret, tracing  

scars with fingertips  

of concern, just short  

of a graze, but more than  

a mere passing touch.  

but I’ll never know the  

answers to what if or  

why as I picture the burning

pyre, the orange-red embers 

carrying with them  

a dying vivacity,  

the priests singing a chorus — 

your swansong  

in which you’re conspicuously  

absent, a curtain call  

without cheer, twigs 

snapping, mourning, and a 

certain someone miles  

away, wishing he held you  

in his arms and said he  

was sorry, and that things 

would be alright before 

it was too late.  

Photo by Alex Motoc on Unsplash

14 responses to “Swansong”

  1. There is a novel here that you expressed so eloquently in few words. A tragic (somewhat ordinary) tale that will probably haunt me throughout the day.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Thank you for your kind words. This post is fiction, but yes, this sort of thing happens regularly, sadly. I might convert it into a prose piece with characters and stuff. But I doubt I can manage a full novel. Thanks again.

      Liked by 1 person

      1. Short story format would work beautifully. Good luck!

        Liked by 1 person

  2. And, it was, these, expectations that we have for one another, that, made us, mold each other into who ee want, one another to, be, but, we fail to realize, that, we can’t, change anybody else, but, our selves, that was why, love went, bust.

    Liked by 1 person

  3. Wow, incredible words. So deep and painful. Tragic. Life feels so tragic and beautiful. Much love to you sweet friend ❤️

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Thank you so much Jennifer ❤️ This post is fiction and related to a few similar poems that I wrote a long time ago. All of them are on this blog. Life is painful and tragic. I guess I use art to express all the different emotions I go through in a day.

      Liked by 1 person

      1. That’s what makes a great writer, writing in the way you do.Perfect ❤️

        Liked by 1 person

      2. Thank you ❤️ I truly appreciate your kind words my friend.

        Liked by 1 person

  4. This is heartbreaking for many reasons, but very well written. Good work

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Thank you so much Maren.

      Liked by 1 person

  5. A well painted poem of words many can relate to or empathize with whether fact or fiction…

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Thank you so much for saying so. It’s a tragic reality, sadly.

      Liked by 1 person

  6. Such tragedy eloquently presented that it feels so real 💞

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Thank you so much Dawn ❤️

      Liked by 1 person

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About Me

Ordinary Person is a guy who likes to write. He writes fiction, essays, poems and other stuff.


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