Hi everyone. Thank you for taking the time to read this. The reason I'm posting this is because today (March 10, 2007) would have been the day a friend of mine from elementary school would have turned 17 years old. But very sadly, he's no longer alive, so I'm writing this poem as a way to remember him on his birthday. (And due to obvious reasons, I'm keeping the name a secret) Sorry if the poem isn't so good. I don't really write a lot of poems.
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I remember the day I
heard that you died.
It was a quite
incredible tale.
I'll write this poem
in memory of you,
And I'll try not to
miss a lot of detail.
I remember when we
first met in Kindergarten
And were with each
other for first and second grade, too.
You pointed out we were
with each other three straight years,
And that you could be a
friend to me, and I to you.
We were only at
another's birthday party once
And you only came over
my house one night.
If you didn't get
transferred after second grade,
Our friendship could
have grown very tight.
We stumbled across each
other a few years later
But I do not remember
exactly when.
Months later we met at
a grocery store checkout line,
And I asked myself,
"When are we going to meet again?"
But I learned, on
earth, that that would never happen
And it pained me to
know
When I learned many
years later
Of the horrible way you
had to go.
I was fifteen years old
when I heard the news.
I was too stunned to
pout.
That afternoon I
learned the details
And was shocked by how
much I had yet to find out.
Towards the end of
2005, a kid at my school drowned.
He was a seventeen year
old young man.
Months later everyone
at school was still talking of it,
And that is when it all
began.
The death was a topic
in my Latin class months later
And everyone said all
of the same.
Then a kid in my class
said he also had a friend who died.
Imagine my surprise
when he was asked who it was and he said your name!
"How old was he?!
Where did he go to school?"
Those were some things
I began to inquire.
To know exactly what
happened
Soon became, for me, a
heated desire.
I thought about it more
and more
Until there remained no
doubt.
You were the one-you
were the friend-
Who my classmate was
talking about.
That afternoon I told
my mom about your death
On the way home after
my newspaper club met.
I thought about it
while I relaxed and watched TV
While my mom did some
searching on the internet.
She came across a
website your mom made,
And it was devoted
entirely to you.
I became more and more
surprised as I read the site
And found out you died
from something you tried to do.
As I read, I couldn't
blink. I couldn't breathe.
I couldn't moan. I
couldn't sigh.
How could you have done
that to yourself?
Why'd you have to try
to get high?!
Trying to get high was
a bad idea-
Surely you've heard
that stated.
And yet you tried it
anyway.
As a result, you
suffocated.
I remember reading the
site your mom wrote,
Practically ready to
scream "What the heck?!"
You learned a new way
to get high,
And it involved tying a
belt around your neck?!
Why did you do that?
Answer me, why?
You must've known it
wasn't smart.
Not only should that
convince some to stop,
It will encourage me
not to start.
It may have been an
uncool thing you did,
Not to mention it
didn't seem very wise.
But I'll stop the
bashing here. After all,
I'm not writing this
to criticize.
I looked at several
pages on the website,
Including ones with
many pictures arranged.
I was increasingly
stunned when looking at those pictures
And seeing how much you
physically changed.
But I guess such a
thing is to be expected
When you don't see a
young child for almost a decade.
After looking through
it for a long while,
I logged out of the
website that your mom had made.
I'm sure if we went
to the same school together
You would have soon
become a great friend.
But I only saw you
twice after second grade
Before I learned about
your untimely end.
I didn't know you so
well, but you were a friend when I was six
And I still hold all
those memories in my heart.
We only knew each other
through second grade, but still,
They're my
memories of you, and from me they'll never part.
We may not meet again
on earth, and we may
Have only met twice
since we were seven.
But we will meet again
some day. But next time,
We'll be seeing each
other again in heaven.
This is my birthday
present to you,
It's one I don't
need the mail in order to send.
Happy
what-would-have-been-your seventeenth birthday,
My old buddy. My old
pal. My old friend.
March 10, 1990 – November 7, 2004