POEM: The Accident

Recently, I lost one of my closest friends and it hurts, but what hurts more are the rumours surrounding his death.


The Accident

Dearest Ash,

I will not let them cast a shadow on your life, nor your legacy.

I wrote this poem to put them in their place, and you to rest.


A mother’s distraught cry

pierces the silence of a room enveloped in sadness.

Following her lead those seated tear up at the thought

of a young man, cold and lifeless,

in the capacity of the closed casket

thoughtfully decorated with flowers

arranged in the shape of an electric guitar.

Words spoken act as a painful reminder

of the life so tragically lost

in an accident.

The exact circumstances unknown,

or perhaps just untold.

The presumptions ran wild,

more frantically than a horse at Aintree,

ridden by naive jockeys.

The death was treated as a subject of gossip

ever curious people had to know;

they had to win the bets they placed.


Not me:

For I never want to know

how he passed,

where he was found,

or by who.

I just need to know he was happy

in the moments before,

That he did not suffer,

And that he felt loved

As he raced freely to the finish line.


He never thought himself good enough

or believed his supporters.

He thought himself a burden to society.

At one point his passing

would not have been accidental,

forced upon by those hitting him

while he was down on his luck.

He was a son,

a brother,

my oldest friend

whom I had grown up with.

Bad times were had,

but things were looking up,

and all bets were off.


We had plans for the summer,

things to look forward to.

He would not just decide

to leave me in the lurch

It was an accident,

the most tragic of all.

All because those,

who should have been his friends,

did not believe it was,

not once,

not at all.


Sleep well, my friend.

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