Outro
It’s only noise when
evolving’s not desired.
Static sounds akin
to burning uninspired.
As resentment steams
no one dreams
of movements that might have been.
Look again, the audio’s adjustable!
Loudness muffled and hushed…
Fixed? Unsafe? Combustible.
“This tune will not be rushed!”
Operating the soundboard
the inputs slide and fade
until something new's discoverable.
Though wanting to suspend
settling the score
a movement’s been penned
(like many before).
The creative endeavor
that seemed would last forever
is simply at its end.
We decided to take a walk.
If the moon and stars still existed,
they were hidden behind clouds.
Then a fog hit us like a wave, a cloud
that had run out of gas and crashed on us,
to further shrink the perceptible world.
Ordinary, walking people became vague
phantoms that could loom, in film noir
black and white out of the fog,
suddenly sharpen and colorize,
only to disappear again in moments.
Sounds, out of sync, or garbled, came sharply
from odd angles, turning that fifth sense unreliable.
Noises, at first muted, were abruptly amplified as
if the hand of that ghostly vapor ran a soundboard.
A man, moving in stalker-like silence, clops,
like a clydesdale on cobblestone as he passes close.
I half expected a distant fog horn to announce
the passing of a ghost ship where all be welcome.
A new year has rounded the corner,
with grave news hard on its heels.
A father's friend at kinship's dawn,
a clan's family, by life's sudden dusk.
In so many respects my father's twin,
he could look in a mirror and see Chuck.
To say 'brother' seems not strong enough,
not nearly a sufficing title for the man.
Growing up, he was simply an uncle,
another sarcastic voice in the choir.
Shipmate, soundboard, confidant, kin;
fellow gamer, writer, musical connoisseur.
Buddy, mentor, verbal sparring partner;
hilarious, caring, intelligent, smart-ass.
Always a phone call or a flight away,
each of these things, to each of us or to all.
Thirty years his junior -
yet he asked my advice on,
and I got to be present for,
his first, and sadly only, tattoo.
He got to meet my wife last year,
for which I am beyond thankful.
He sought her counsel for his next tattoo,
which will now be another of hers.
An easy man to like,
with an easy smile and easier laugh,
now a hard man to miss -
but with good stories, of a greater man.
And for those who knew him;
be grateful for having known the dead,
and hold to hope that 'bye' -
is only for now.
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