I will have tears for Brian, for the rest of my time.
And whether I have months or years,
I will have tears that will mix with time, like lines that rhyme,
And all my days and tears will sound as a single chime.
My tears spring suddenly,
As I sit in a chair,
And I realize suddenly
My lifetime's best friend is not there.
When that thought captures me, I have to cry.
The couch, where he used to sit or lie,
Is empty; and his absence is told by the clear air.
On TV, suddenly, his favorite show;
That is enough to start my tears to flow.
Or watching a movie that he would have enjoyed,
And my heart prays he can see somehow,
Over the separating rim that seems forever to divide.
I cannot bear to think that he could be vanished in the void,
Deprived of all sound and sight and every sense,
Without even the feel of time passing, or the feel of now.
My tears spring suddenly,
Like a weak defense
Against a bright world of hidden death-traps none can foresee,
Against a world of sweet time, sweet killing time,
Like a honeybee
Whose price for honey is sharp stings,
And mad impermanence.
Or when I go to, or even pass a book-store,
Where Brian used to spend time with me, happily--
Reading a magazine or a book,
And sipping his Venti green tea--
I realize why I have swollen eyes:
My friend Brian is here no more.
My tears spring suddenly,
At odd moments, and at different times--often inappropriately.
But the truth is always the truth; and my joys consume
Like paper on fire.  Time is our birth medium; and time
Is the stairway on which our brief lives climb;
Then, snap--
Suddenly the trap clicks and cracks; and time is our tomb.
They tell me that time will heal my heart;
That someday my tears will stop,
Or at least be few and far apart;
And when anybody says that to me, I know differently.
My tears spring suddenly.
For I know that I have far more tears,
Than I have time to heal, with my own life-span's years
Cut off with cancer's painful shears.
But even if I could live another hundred years,
My best friend Brian dying would cost me crying,
Of many more days, many more tears.
And the last day would see tears wept,
As bitterly as the first day saw cried.
Not always, now; but--as if on a signal--
A sight, a sound, a word, a memory--
My tears spring suddenly.
These are not tears to be left by a grave-side,
Then to cease to flow when I turn and go,
Like old tears long ago dried,
By the grave of someone who long ago died.
These are not tears of that kind.
These are tears to be wept till the eyes are blind;
And then wept still.
These are tears that flow from the heart and mind,
Beyond all will.
These are tears of love that pine for lost time.
These are tears of love that long for my lost precious friend.
Tears that weep with worry and fear, and with searing sorrow;
Wondering what may have become of him--
Fretting what may have become of his good heart and self--
At his earthly life's undeserved early end.
Hoping  and praying that Brian will have good new life--
A happy new today and a good new tomorrow.
I hope it can be, though eternity seems far, far greater than we.
These are tears that for the rest of my life, I shall be crying.
These are tears that will still spring suddenly.
Tears for Brian.

==============================
Written by Michael LP, aka MLP
aka PoetWithCancer, aka PWC, aka Mr. Poet
Written on Monday, March 28, 2011  10:21
62 degrees F.  Humidity: 35%  Forecast: overcast
Copyright (C) 2011 by Michael LP.  All rights reserved