34 years ago, my brother died from an overdose. I went to the funeral and thought I took his death well, but 8 years later I woke up one morning very happy and excited, it was going to be a great ....
34 years ago, my brother died from an overdose. I went to the funeral and thought I took his death well, but 8 years later I woke up one morning very happy and excited, it was going to be a great day,,,..I was going to meet my brother at a restaurant for lunch (I never made any plans to meet him,,....it's just something that got into my head over night,,,,...maybe I never mourned properly). I looked all over the apartment for a paper or note about the meeting, but found nothing. Eventually I realized that he was dead (which I always knew, but something was stuck inside me and the matter/death was not settled for some reason).
Oh well, I accepted his death anyway.
Ten years later, I wrote a poem for a class. I had absolutely no idea what it would be about until I read it.
Moonbeams and white lights
Moonbeams are silly things like white lights when you're dead,
but, in fates truth, their mystery is shown,
They're made of memories of life and pain's mirage,
a buddy's farewell and a vision of fright,
From youth we traded stories of storms and defeats, agonies and glories,
We accomplished our dreams, suffered our miseries,
We trembled from nightmares and conquered our fears
We laughed and cried, had heartaches and headaches,
Stood tall and proud as an invincible team,
Till twilight's grasp made his flesh like ice,
and tears could only mock the heartache I felt,
But now I understand those moonbeams and white lights that shine on him...
they're all my memories of him.
That night my brother smiled at me (I had no other recollection of a dream).
Try writing something ( any jibber-jabber nonsense will show you what is meaningful/important to you).
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Eric B
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