Refraction.

Uncle Bill

Such a prevalent sadness,
It creeps from the inside out.
Suddenly, I cannot hold a smile anymore.
I understand,
Of course I understand,
That it should want to be a prisoner no longer,
But whatever happened
To saving face?
Only I am here to see the chaos,
But somehow that makes it seem worse.
I do nothing but rot here,
So overcome
That I can scarcely move,
Much less do the things I ought to,
Even the things that I must do -
They go undone;
I am coming undone,
Perhaps I'd like to die.
Then again, perhaps I wouldn't:
I'm just looking for an escape.
I cast my mind into the past,
I think of a friend of my father's
Who sought an escape too.
I recall that they found his poetry
After he had gone,
And I ponder what his life may have been;
What words, what wonders, what dreams,
Those verses held.
If he had stayed, what would have
Come of his words? If shared, what would they
Have brought to another mind?
I recall him, vaguely -
I was just a child, one that called him 'Uncle',
Too young to understand
Where and why he had gone.
I think of him now; I sense him beside me,
And it is so strange to be understood.
There is no lecture to be given
About whether I have eaten,
Or the laundry thrown on the floor.
I dare not admit to finding solace
In the company of the dead, but his wisdom
Sedates that nagging impulse
To escape this life permanently.
He knows things that I cannot understand
Whilst I still draw breath,
And encourages me to stay.
To be overwhelmed by my own mind
Is agonising,
But it is not permanent as death is;
It is miserable, but not final,
Nor is it half as tragic
As a dead man's poetry
That nobody will ever fully understand;
He has experienced something
That I endeavour to never know,
Even when I breathe
No more.