GloPoWriMo 2018: Day XXIV: On the Death of Lazarus

Today NaPoWriMo challenges us to write an Elegy – a poem typically in remembrance of someone who has left this mortal veil, except with a tone of hopefulness. That’s an innately beautiful thought, and one that might even be hardcoded into the human animal – the thought of bright lights, of a place beyond the darkness. And whether its real or not, it’s a nice thought. And there are fewer of those in the world than there should be.

As for my poem today… well, there are many kinds of death… and many kind of hope…

Goodnight sweet prince
You wonderfully naive soul
Farewell to your brave heart
That once made mine whole

I can fondly remember
The stupid smile on your silly face
I’ll never forget
What you’ve tried so to erase

They say fools rush in
And you were never any exception
Deceit and subterfuge and betrayal
Were always beyond your perception

You lived a dozen lifetimes
So often died and resurrected
But this too did pass
And in the end each is bested

I feel you less and less now
With each passing day and year
Not gone, not entirely
But not as quite here

Your trials taught me well
And though I am not man you were
I will try to honour your lives
Your lessons I will not spur

Forgive me if I falter
If I cannot open my heart as you did
I am scared where you were not
My spring not undiluted

Lazarus you were the best of us
And now gone you are missed
Your shadow hangs over me
Your spirit not yet dismissed

Goodbye is not forever
Though I do not know, I have faith
One day we’ll see each other again
Whether mortal flesh or ethereal wraith

Goodnight sweet prince
Farewell my friend
And may we never say goodbye
If you ever rise again

 

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Pour One Out

The events of that evening have been often spoken about in hushed tones and whispers. No one knows what really happened mind you. Well, almost no one. Those who swear that they were there, that they saw it with their own eyes, are, I am afraid to say, liars and gossips.

At 12 PM on Sunday the 1st of September Lord Lindsey Lionel Pritchett IV received a letter. Now the most curious thing about this letter was not that it bore no return address, nor that none of the 4 guards at the front gate saw anyone come or go who could have dropped it off, nor even that it consisted merely of 11 words. The strangest thing about it was that it was supposedly written by a man who had been dead near a year. Suffice to say that Lord Pritchett was not amused, for he at once recognized the hand that was meant to have written these eleven words, “The bar good friend. The seventh at seven. Please do come.” and he did not appreciate the prank. Despite his abhorrently long name and his lofty title, Pritchett was a “proper gentleman” only when he had to be, and there were very few individuals who were privy to his true light-hearted nature. But despite his love for a good joke, there were some things he did not take lightly.

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