A Poem For My Best Friend, Robert.

[Great Cthulhu]

"Ritual of Loss"

Over the phone,

my best friend's voice,

infused with shock

and stunned disbelief,

speaks words of no meaning

and the most horrid importance.

He lost a piece of family

this morning.

His father in law,

Patriarch of his wife's tribe.

An ingenious man

with a truer understanding

of wheels spun by Motor,

has fallen ill,

failed by his own bones,

cruelly weakened in the flesh.

Metallic artifice of mobility

desperately gripped two-handed

just to take a step.

His heart seems to have been broken

by this involuntary self betrayal.

His spirit must have failed him

early this damp morning.

He has fallen;

his own hand seeking a faster,

more noble end,

Free from the disappointments

of losing the strengths of Man.

My presence is needed,

brotherly obligation and love

require that the rituals

are held sacred;

Honor clasped between our hands.

We share the hours

with a six pack of consolation

for my friend's broken heart.

A conversation almost normal,

interrupted by bald, scary statements:

"I can't believe it. It just doesn't seem real"

"I feel like I'm dreaming. I keep waiting to wake up."

"Did you see him?" - "No, I've seen enough..."

I swim through this torrent

of pain, loss and grief buffeted

by oddities half hidden in the flow

of words.

I smell the remnants of cacophony leaking up

from the chasm left by this Death;

see the blackness burbling beyond sight.

I hope to hold a candle

to ward back a tiny sliver of despair

with my hand outstretched,

connected to the concern burning

for a friend's Honor

in consecrated chambers of my heart.

"Thanks for coming."

"I'm glad I could."

April 6, 2010. © LeRoy James McKitrick,

All rights reserved

[grateful]

beautiful, a little haunting, but beautiful!

[Great Cthulhu]

beautiful, a little haunting, but beautiful!

Thank you, speaking of death is never a happy occasion. I'm glad you enjoyed my craft.