Gatsby Poem by Elizabeth Shield

If I had to bring you a story, to your grave
To this rain-beaten stone
I would bring you a story of the pool you died in
Needlessly, killed by repercussions of withered dreams
On that summer day, with the fading heat and gentle sunshine
Neither of which you felt, for the throbbing of your heart
And the distant urging of a God you never heard to fix your life
That pool with fiery sunset leaves drifting by your toes
The result of bad deals and perfidious fortune
Floating in the cerulean water,
Languishing in the personification of your wealth
That pool, you know, sits empty now
Full of weeds and the dust of ages
But you should have known the consequences
If you could have been considered knowledgeable in business,
In sadness, in waiting, you should have known
What this corrupted dream would bring you,
And your ignorant tenacity was comparable to rock

Before the shot was fired, while you were still floating
In that one last great puddle of optimism,
Thinking of her, the only one you ever really loved
You were suited for each other in naïveté
It drained slowly, a watery rug pulled out from beneath your feet
When the shot was fired you were still falling from the clouds,
Into the treacherous beauty of the water
You and your dreams both drowning

This pool was your downfall; you left yourself out in the open
This love was your five-year ending,
You left your whole existence in a careless pair of hands