Dear George

Death is silent 

But there are a few people

Who give it a voice 

I remember

The day I read my poems to you

You looked at me

Like a beautiful and deadly storm  

Once I was done you said 

Let's get married

And write poetry forever 

I thought of you as wild and crazy 

I remember the day before

You died 

You did not even look at me

As you waved 'Hi'

Then I remember the day

You died 

It was wild and crazy

Why did you not look at me? 

Were you scared?

I would look at you and know 

That tomorrow 

The sun will set  

That the waves of your departure 

Will give death a roaring voice 

Dear George, 

I am doing better

I do not write

As much poetry anymore

I have become afraid 

That these words 

I pin onto the paper 

Will become the same pin

Used with a thread

To draw my heart out

I am now, fierce and scared

I am sure you know 

It is as if your departure taught me 

To seize opportunities

As they arise 

If I stay really quiet

I can hear you

Trying to meddle with this poem 

It is unlike you

You always appreciated

My amateur writings 

Please listen

Here we are

Three years later 

And I am stil

Trying to not remember

Poetry has turned me 

Into a brain miner 

I sift through the memories 

Preserve the pain

I live off it - the pain

I use it

As a drug

To feed my ambition

It is an addiction

I learned from you

I have learned

To lay my pain

To rest in such poems

With the aim to tell

Nothing but the truth 

My truth is harder though 

My truth has a disappearing face

And a legacy pestering me to believe 

 I can make it happen 

So perhaps 

This should be my letter of gratitude 

Perhaps the only worthwhile solitude 

I need 

To keep remembering

Someone in heaven 

Still believes I can make it happen.