Your guitar was my central nervous system-
Everything I loved and hated:
Family, and home, and torture.
Who will weep for your innocence?
The tender boy with chestnut hair,
The soft soul and kind eyes-
The boy abused
Twisted, crying out in terminal distress-
How many years?
How many deaths?
And all your songs undone,
Unheard, and unsung.
My ears rang when the news called,
So many miles to stand
Alone beside your bed,
Your heart emptied
You scrutinized the space
Many miles from there.
I held your blood-drenched fingertips:
It was the closest I could get.
My ears have been ringing since.
It wasn’t even illness then-
The pinnacle of soulless reason-
It was supply and demand.
What words belong within this realm?
Nothing ever scrubbed those hands-
You’ve punished us for interfering
A never-ending ransom,
Meet your demands, or you’ll kill the hostage:
That floppy-haired boy
who loved us.
You’ve punished us for living,
For treating life like it was anything
We had any right to do.
And I’m not mad at you-
God as my witness
I forgive you all this and more
Only live, damn you, live!
Release your fists and allow
The mists of time, and kindness,
And even God
To finally wash them clean.