Short stories and Other Whatnots

Withered

I would hear him during the night,

Calling out to me, his voice clear and bright,

It was always during the night and never the day,

All of this started on the first week of May.

We’ve known each other for quite some time,

Try about for 7 years or 9,

We’ve been by each other’s side through thick and thin,

He often reminded me of Huckleberry Finn.

We would roam around the town on day’s end,

Dangling our legs in the water, catching fish of pretend,

By the crack of dawn, I would go back home,

Looking back at our adventures as if we had travelled through Rome

If I had known our friendship wouldn’t last, I would re-do everything in my past,

But knowing that I couldn’t made me picture him encased in wood and glass,

All that I wanted was more time with him, is that so much to ask?

Apparently, it was. It was time that Death removed his mask.

I would go to him, to and fro,

Regardless of rain, shine, hail, or snow,

I went to his grave, on the corner street of Monroe,

But I knew, deep down, that someday I had to let him go.

So I went to him for one last time, for old time’s sake,

Removing the withered peonies by his grave, ignoring my heartache,

I said my farewell, short and blunt, and walked away with darkness in my soul,

From that point onwards, when I’d hear of your voice, ignoring it made my insides dark as coal.