Stilled remembered.

Standard

They say that only the good die young-but I think that it’s wrong. Not incorrect, but it doesn’t belong. See-if you have a song, that’s really moving someone, then that shit should get sung before your flesh is all done. But some bells get rung before they’ve even begun-see when I was young, I knew someone, he shone like a star-he was bright as the sun. He was brighter than lightning, he was sweet as the air. So damn good it was frightening, but he didn’t care. See he was pure in this loving, almost childish way, and no push cut or shoving could sway him from faith. At the time that I knew him, my life was a hell, my mind a cold mine-field and insecurities dwelled. In my heart of all heart space I felt I was strange, and this boy, he approached me-in the most curious of ways. See I was pagan and Gothic, some said I was gay (I was caught looking at girls, you know; in that kind of way), I was awkward and shocking, just couldn’t fit in. Could never quite stop me, from showing true skin. And with the true-real me hanging off of my sleeve I was stuck fucking ducking out of sights set to me. I was locked in the cross-hairs for being a freak, but freakish or not I was just being me. And me was a girl who felt every blow sink deeper than skin down where it don’t show and the seed took inside me and the violence made grow my hatred despise me for being so slow – on the uptake for not taking in the pieces of others that would make me fit in. But fit in or not, I was stuck being me, and this kid, he approached me, and said “Hey, I’m Steve”. His name was Steve Johnson, and he saved my life, not once or twice, but over-that’s right! Kindness embodied in humanly form, this Earth caught a break on the day he was born.He was Christian, and Christ-like, that’s no blasphemy. In a mission, it was just like he was out for saving me. But not just for next life-or souls eternally. But his fight, for this life-was loving who was me.He told me knew he should try to rearrange, to change the strangeness what incited kids to rage. But he couldn’t do it, even though he knew he “should”, cause he saw right through it and saw that Me, was good. And goodness and loving, well they go hand in hand, So he stood above it and took a noble stand. And stand up, and hand out and help me up, beside. He never did shout out-but he held me when I cried. And cry I did, I cried so much, so much you won’t believe, but I never did quite cry so much as the day I heard him leave. He left this world quite silently, gone cold asleep in bed. His mother went to wake him up but found a corse instead. Of Course I went to funeral. I sat still in the pew, I can’t remember services, I cried the whole way through. But when the bitter end hand come and time had come to view; I followed line to casket there to see his soul had flew. And viewing that his soul and flown, once again I sobbed. “This child to a man ungrown-the fucking world’s been robbed!”  The whole way home I cursed and wept and raged between the tears, the death of him had hit me hard, all though it had been years. And fear and spite kept building up inside-it wasn’t fair! But cancer chooses who it will, and chance just doesn’t care. But caring is the gist of it-and what his life had shared. He left with me compassion’s kiss, and yes, he even dared-to tell me I was loved by God, so odd and weirdly built. His God, he said, don’t make mistakes-so let go of the guilt. And even though I don’t believe-in God, or Holy Ghost, those word that he had said to me are what touched me deep the most. Because the truth of God has never been in Ghost or sky above,  but in the hearts and minds of man, and how they choose to love. And who they choose to worship, and the truths that they believe. And the truth of life I hold most dear, was reinforced by Steve. SO every time I’m holding out my hand to help out… You! You’re being helped, respectively, by that boy that I once knew.

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About Keats

Oh I'm sassy and I'm sexy, So silly sweet-and-sour Delightfully disastrous And deliciously dour I'm flippantly foolish, Filled I am with fear Can't concentrate completely, and my conduct isn't clear But to bravely be my best I Bring bravado back, BEHOLD!

3 responses »

  1. Damn, Kila. I’m speechless. To maintain that poetic quality, the almost…sing-song reality to the piece, and yet to levy something so heavy, so full-bodied and on-going…damn. Would that we all could know such a soul.

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