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Words, too late for Terry
The last thing Terry saw
Was the underside of a highway overpass
The last thing he heard
Was the sound of cars and trucks
Driving by
His life
Like so many
Had been filled
With wrong turns
In and out of jail
Occasionally
In and out of a job
And finally
Out of a home
Also
Like so many
He also became a slave
A slave of poverty
A slave of alcohol
And a slave to a system
That would rather punish offenders
Than offer hope or help
At the age of 43
He had lost the vision
In one eye
And part of his foot
To diabetes
And in the eyes of most
The most important thing Terry had lost
Was himself
On one cold night in December
A night where temperatures would only be measured
In the single digits
Terry did something he seldom did
He sought shelter
A warm place to spend the night
But from the homeless shelter he went to
He was turned away
He had failed their alcohol test
For them to “care” for him
He had to be both
Clean and sober
Yes
The last thing Terry saw
Was the underside of a highway overpass
And the last thing that he heard
Was the sound of cars and trucks
As they drove by
None of which stopped
And only a few blocks away
From our State Capitol Building
That night
Terry froze
To death
Tonight
I write these words
Through tear filled eyes
And wonder
How many more will have to die like this
Before we finally open our minds
And our hearts
And change
Ed Roberts 11/20/13
(For Terry Myrks)
The last thing Terry saw
Was the underside of a highway overpass
The last thing he heard
Was the sound of cars and trucks
Driving by
His life
Like so many
Had been filled
With wrong turns
In and out of jail
Occasionally
In and out of a job
And finally
Out of a home
Also
Like so many
He also became a slave
A slave of poverty
A slave of alcohol
And a slave to a system
That would rather punish offenders
Than offer hope or help
At the age of 43
He had lost the vision
In one eye
And part of his foot
To diabetes
And in the eyes of most
The most important thing Terry had lost
Was himself
On one cold night in December
A night where temperatures would only be measured
In the single digits
Terry did something he seldom did
He sought shelter
A warm place to spend the night
But from the homeless shelter he went to
He was turned away
He had failed their alcohol test
For them to “care” for him
He had to be both
Clean and sober
Yes
The last thing Terry saw
Was the underside of a highway overpass
And the last thing that he heard
Was the sound of cars and trucks
As they drove by
None of which stopped
And only a few blocks away
From our State Capitol Building
That night
Terry froze
To death
Tonight
I write these words
Through tear filled eyes
And wonder
How many more will have to die like this
Before we finally open our minds
And our hearts
And change
Ed Roberts 11/20/13
(For Terry Myrks)
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Words, too late for Terry
Words, too late for Terry