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A Storm In Heaven, Sections 31-36

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Below is the poem entitled A Storm In Heaven, Sections 31-36 which was written by poet chris kane jr.. Please feel free to comment on this poem. However, please remember, PoetrySoup is a place of encouragement and growth.

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A Storm In Heaven, Sections 31-36

She left him there ruined, to drink and to brood
For three years thereafter he held the same mood
Trapped was the artist in a cubicle office space
Torture for his feverish mind and heart now laid to waste
Alcohol was life though he would never call it so
But the bonds were too strong he still could not let her go
Sorrow turned to anger, then to bitterness and hurt
Many nights did he wind up crying face down in the dirt

It was not long before his lifestyle took its toll
And his vices had threatened to swallow him whole
His liver long battered his kidneys near their end
The doctor admitted he had but a year of life to spend
Broken down and scared, the penniless loser fled
Away from all his comforts for the country instead
“There”, he had argued, “no one will have to see
All the pain and all the suffering of the ugly end of me”

Not far from the city Lyla Dawson did dwell
With a successful career and a fiancée Johnny Bell
They lived in the suburbs in a colonial on a hill
With a view of the lake for which most would kill
Yet her thoughts often turned on her old college friend
Of his current whereabouts and the time they’d spend
Talking endlessly in the library and watching the rains of the spring
And how she could always rely on him for everything

These thoughts crossed her mind on a hot summer day
When the heavens tore open and turned the clouds black and gray
A storm front lashed out savagely upon the world below
A driver was fishtailing, but Lyla Dawson didn’t know
With a sickening crunch the cars collided hard
The accident was gruesome, with the driver barely scarred
But Lyla and her boyfriend were less fortunate than he
Johnny was in a coma, Lyla bleeding heavily

As they were rushed to the hospital and I received the news
I decided to call Ryan Adams, who was swimming in his booze
The call disturbed him greatly and he said he would come soon
Yet I saw no sign of the man that entire afternoon
The story goes, a neighbor said, sickly Ryan dusted off his paints
To muster one more masterpiece of his lover with the saints
At last they were together, in that lovely afterlife
Having waited for eternity to finally make her his wife

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