“Coming to Terms”
By Richard Goode
I'll be stealing away,
to a world shroud in peace,
ill take what i can,
when its within my reach.
Dont try and stop me,
just open your eyes,
you say your dying inside,
but i think its pride,
These feelings you feel,
is a fault not your own,
all the actions i took,
i'd never condone.
but your actions were so criminal,
trying to conquer whats in sight,
but my messege is subliminal,
cant you see that its not right,
i hear that ignorance is bliss,
and this worlds a crying shame,
theres nothing to your lies,
and what you say is all the same.
telling me everything,
that you had already said,
i couldnt help but fight the feeling,
that you were walking away.
"These are lyrics i wrote for a band i was in a while back. I like to believe that there is a deep meaning in my words, but that is for the reader to find for themselves from there perspective."
My mind plays games of where he’s gone, hoping to explain,
Just why he doesn’t write or phone, doesn’t he realize the pain?
Perhaps he’s been busy at his job, or his girlfriend occupies his time.
But why, oh why, cannot he call. Surely a few moments he could find.
He hasn’t been home for almost a year, and Christmas has come and gone.
How could he be so foolish to stay away so long?
The holidays were painful this year, not filled with the usual joy.
For around the tree one was missing, our twenty-one year old boy.
I dream of waking up one day and in the foyer to see,
His small suitcase as a sign, that with his brothers downstairs he will be.
I force my mind to face the truth, that Jim is really gone.
No longer will he be coming home, he’ll never write or phone.
The pain in my heart goes on and on, when will it ever go away?
Will there come a time in our life when our cries don’t last all day?
To cherish the memories is all I can do, to remember his laughter and smile.
His easy-going nature and slow moving ways will be with us all the while.
Yet I wonder if he can see the love we have for him.
And how I ache for just one more hug, from our child, our son, Jim.
"I heard on NPR this morning that we write poems to help us deal with inner turmoil. So, I decided to submit this poem that I wrote after the death of my son in 1986. He was 21 years old.
