While perusing a volume of poems by Charles Bukowski this evening, I came across a piece that reminded me of a dear friend who took his life this past summer after a long struggle with depression. He was an extremely gifted artist and my life is diminished by his absence.
I've been unable to grieve for him due to my inability to let go of the anger I felt for his decision. I suppose a certain amount of guilt and regret are at the root of my issues and in time, all things will be what they should be......
To my friend Chris...
unblinking grief
the last cigarettes are smoked, the loaves are sliced,
and lest this be taken for wry sorrow,
drown the spider in wine.
you are much more than simply dead:
I am a dish for your ashes,
I am a fist for your vanished air.
the most terrible thing about life
is finding it gone.
Charles Bukowski
From "Sifting Through the Madness for the Word, the Line, the Way"
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