Day Of Death. Poem by Alistair Plint

Well I suppose it happens to the best of us.
Death.
No-one is ever strong enough
to beat it when
it really happens.

Though
I wish
I wish it was
true
that one person
just one
wasn't gone.

You know the feeling in the
gut.
That hole
that
feels, it would never be filled.

I get it,
I know why,
why he ended himself
took his talent with him
yeah, he was that
good
wouldn't leave ‘em
lying around.

But I truly wish
one truly talented
ego
could prove
proof -

"christ on a cracker",
I love you for that
forever.


-x-