To the Friend whose Voice I can still remember.

On a page we wrote
about how we'd grow
and age into death
and how we'd learn
and love with others
we cherish.

But how did you go
before you could grow
and while you were still
learning and loving?
How did you disappear
so suddenly
in a flash
of headlights
so quickly
we didn't see-
you didn't see...

On a page we wrote
about how we'd grow
and age into death
but now it seems
you've skipped the
chapters between birth
and death, leaving us all behind
gaping, wondering,
in shock and sadness
wishing you were still here
to finish the book
you'd barely begun.

Why is there No Sky?

Why is there no sky?

Drums tease under deep muttering,
walls stained red with spotlights.
Only the smell of singed cigarettes
dotting the room
denoting cancer-ridden lungs
burnt and tarred, thick like
toffee - stuck, chewed,
hard like shingles
on the beach of Brighton
where the pier gave way
to a view of the sky
which we could never reach.

Why is there no sky?
I thought they were the limits
but yet we can't touch it
only see it and assume it's there.
But then carried away by
the sound of drums, you drift
like the acrid smoke you smell
and forget you are there
only to find the higher you go
the closer you are
to feeling it.