| Biographical Poetry
posted July 19, 2017
And my heart still bleeds...
Faded duffel bags...
traded and tossed away
for broken moments
of what became days of haze
and crying for dying,
thereby defying the promise that came with the gift
but turned into a swift kick by his majesty,
a part of a constant travesty
while tragedy and misery sang daily,
leaving me to barely remember his smile,
which was no longer a genuine smile because
heroine danced to his regular music of hatred,
giving him pretend friends who really hated him,
wishing they were him,
forcing him to swim
through perilous waters for them,
then burying him neck deep in stiffened concrete,
rejoicing at his peril
and with such swagger
throwing sterile daggers at his heart.
With such great hate
they were enforcing his date with suicide
and then spitefully took great pride
in the day that he actually died...
Took me for a ride
through miserable memories
of a young girl
romancing and dancing with suicide.
She went running to hide,
escaped to the top of a roof,
where there she prayed that prayer,
that declare of want-ful suicide
but it was that prayer
that deprived her of deep swallow
of the DRANO from the can held tightly in her grip
catching the drips of the tears
that dripped past her lips
as she prayed that prayer
that was not just a childish wish
but a begging for a gift.
Yes, "what would God give
if that day she decided to live?"
His answer was...TYRENE...
first gleam into God's beautiful poetry for me,
perished all of my, "WOE IS ME", Poetry - away
and has me remembering the "Good old days"
when always and for my praise
he would write such beautiful poetry
then read them to me,
about me and for me.
Duffel bags full of well written poems,
full of mother and hopeful recover,
discovered rebellion, anger, pain and sadness,
yes, the madness of a young man
who it seems - he could not stand his life
and took a knife to those faded duffle bags
then traded them and tossed them away
with his gift,
giving them a swift kick into lost forever,
and those pretend friends,
spitefully held on to some of them
those faded duffel bags
then possibly just tossed them away
without even knowing what precious gifts
they really had...too bad...
but it only adds to this whole sad reality...
He was found dead,
alone in his home,
miles and states away
where it seems he settled with that day
and now suicide abides in our lives
but when I arrived to his home
his body was not there
and not one...faded duffel bag...
Faded duffel bags,
traded and tossed away,
LOST as the LOST
that I feel without him
and his lost poetry
only means to me,
"THAT POETRY...HAS FOREVER CHANGED WITHOUT HIM"
my "WOE IS ME" poetry has returned...
Poem of the Month contest entry
Even re-typing this poem - rips and tears away at my heart and soul - leaving deep holes where that aching lives.
and 2 member cents.
I will NEVER forget him...my oldest and first born child...
Tyrene Quindell Baker,
oh! how my heart still bleeds...
The photos are of Tyrene before he died. He was 28 years old.
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Tier V. King
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Tier V. King
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