i was always a todd who lost his neil
“i was always a todd, afraid of my own shadow, afraid that even the sun would judge me for standing wrong but oh my neil you were my sunrise...i never thought sunrise would vanish before noon!”
the world in its cruel arithmetic
subtracted my neil,
and left me
with the remainders:
awkward pauses,
questions too heavy,
dreams too fragile.
i wonder still:
does the sky grieve,
when one star
burns out too soon?
or does it keep shining,
pretending
not to notice? (i cannot pretend).
does the moon ache
when one of its borrowed lights
disappears forever?
do the trees shiver
for the birds
that will never return?
does the ocean mourn
the ship
that never comes back?
does silence know
how cruel it is?
do memories know
that they bruise–
that they cut deeper
than knives ever could?
does a chair feel hollow
without the weight
of the one who sat there?
do books tremble
when a reader leaves them
unfinished?
does grief get tired
or does it feed
on the body that holds to it?
do tears remember
the eyes they burn?
does pain
ever apologize
for having overstayed?
does the world notice
when one voice
is silenced forever?
or does it continue
with its endless noise,
its merciless days,
its careless dawns?
and me–
do i matter??
if i remain unheard,
do my questions
reach anyone at all?
or am i only
a whisper
swallowed
by an unlistening sky?
Oh my neil,
every desk i sit at
feels haunted;
every poem i try to write
sounds like your voice–
teaching me
what my own voice
could have been
but it isn’t.
it never will be:
i was always a todd
and silence
was always stronger
than me.
but oh, my neil–
you are gone
and silence has won.
you are a name
i cannot call
a voice
i will never hear again,
and i remain
a hollow seat
in a crowded room,
a trembling shadow
in the corner.
a silence
that will never
learn to speak.
i was always quiet
because it felt safer to have no voice:
i was always the boy
who stood in the corner
watching others burn
with fire i thought
i didn’t own.
but oh– my neil,
you were that fire:
a flare against the night
a laugh too alive
a dream too fragile
for the hands
that tried to hold you down.
i always stepped back
i folded myself
pretending to be a shadow.
but, oh my neil–
you stepped forward
even when
your wings were tied.
you sang in a voice
louder than courage:
i still hear mr. keating saying to someone “carpe diem!”
but what does it mean
to seize the day
when the day
has already taken someone
you loved?
oh my neil–
the desk i stood on
that day
was not rebellion.
it was the weight
of everything unsaid
it was fear
disguised as bravery
it was a whisper
pretending to be thunder
it was the trembling hands
of a boy,
who had nothing left
but the need
to stand;
it was grief
it was love
it was courage
(i borrowed from you).
it was me
for the first time
choosing not to hide:
i was always a todd,
the one who watches
others leap
while i sit still
with folded hands
hoping no one asks me
to read my poem aloud.
i was always a todd–
i will always be a todd
but sometimes i try
to be a little bit of you;
because poems die...if left unread
and dreams die...if left untried
and hopes die...if left unfed
…
note: for all the todds of the world, so that people don't hate them for the choices they make... because they don't know the options they have to choose from!