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Death of a Child hood
We were young back then
Dennis and I
Growing up way too fast
Or trying to
He and I were very close
He was closer to me
Than my brother
But that in itself is a different poem
I was the straight kid
The geek
The one that didn't seem to fit in with most
He was somewhere on the other side
He lived alone
With his mother
Didn't really care much for school
He had no relationship with his father
It would always make him happy
When I let him borrow mine
We were just two kids
Growing up in different worlds
That fate put together
Both were the better for it
Though some would argue about this
Dennis went the way of alcohol
And yes
Even messed around with pills as well
He kept a gun in a shoebox
One he kept hidden in his room
Then later he hid it under the seat of his car
I often wonder
What my other friends would have thought
If they knew I had one hidden too
Not everything was as peaceful as it seemed
Some serious trouble would sometimes come my way
But there again
That is a different poem as well.
I remember the last day I talked with Dennis
He was leaving school to marry his girlfriend
She was expecting their child
Both of them were seventeen
We were standing in the hallway at school
I saw he was carrying his pistol in his coat
Later that night
The phone rang
They said that Dennis and another friend had been drinking
Something had gone wrong
Somehow the gun went off
And the bullet went through the side of Dennis's head
No one would listen
When I told them that for the gun to go off
Someone would have to pull the trigger twice
The chamber under the hammer was always empty
Along with the first one as well
He learned this from me
One never knows
When they might be facing their own gun
This gives you a second
That the other person doesn't know about
Sometimes every second counts
The next few days are still a blur
I kept on working
I kept on living my normal life
Except when I wasn't at work or at home
I was hunting
Hunting for the man that killed my friend
The one that took him from this world
Luckily the police found him first
I say that even though they later let him go
Still
Had I found him
My life would be very different than it is today
I helped carry Dennis's casket at his funeral
We buried his mother that day as well
Even though it took years for her to join him
Her soul went with his that day
I remember the last day I saw her
She handed me the keys to his car
She asked about Maria
But neither of us ever heard from her again
That night
After every one else had gone to bed
A young boy took a small box out of his closet
And left his house without making a sound
He went to a small field not far away
Dug a small hole with his father's shovel
And in it
Buried the box
In this box
There was a pack of Marlboros
Smoking would never be cool to him again
There was a small bottle of pills
Pills he had taken from his brother
Pills that he took sometimes
When he couldn't take the pain
A picture of his best friend
One he would carry with him
In his heart
For the rest of his life
And pieces of a broken gun
One he had smashed the day before
When no one else was home
Yes
There were several burials that day
Earlier I was there
When they put my best friend's body into the ground
I saw the death of a woman's soul
As she turned to drive away in her car
And later that night
A child went alone into an empty field
He buried part of my soul
And my childhood
In a small box there as well.
Childhood is a time for learning.
Often lessons are learned
That come with a very high price.
Ed Roberts 1/13/06
I got married and became a father at the age of eighteen
My sons often wondered why it was so important to me
That I knew what was in their closet
In their dresser drawers
And under their bed.
Both are grown now
My oldest is a father as well
Now they both understand
If they didn't before.
Dennis and I
Growing up way too fast
Or trying to
He and I were very close
He was closer to me
Than my brother
But that in itself is a different poem
I was the straight kid
The geek
The one that didn't seem to fit in with most
He was somewhere on the other side
He lived alone
With his mother
Didn't really care much for school
He had no relationship with his father
It would always make him happy
When I let him borrow mine
We were just two kids
Growing up in different worlds
That fate put together
Both were the better for it
Though some would argue about this
Dennis went the way of alcohol
And yes
Even messed around with pills as well
He kept a gun in a shoebox
One he kept hidden in his room
Then later he hid it under the seat of his car
I often wonder
What my other friends would have thought
If they knew I had one hidden too
Not everything was as peaceful as it seemed
Some serious trouble would sometimes come my way
But there again
That is a different poem as well.
I remember the last day I talked with Dennis
He was leaving school to marry his girlfriend
She was expecting their child
Both of them were seventeen
We were standing in the hallway at school
I saw he was carrying his pistol in his coat
Later that night
The phone rang
They said that Dennis and another friend had been drinking
Something had gone wrong
Somehow the gun went off
And the bullet went through the side of Dennis's head
No one would listen
When I told them that for the gun to go off
Someone would have to pull the trigger twice
The chamber under the hammer was always empty
Along with the first one as well
He learned this from me
One never knows
When they might be facing their own gun
This gives you a second
That the other person doesn't know about
Sometimes every second counts
The next few days are still a blur
I kept on working
I kept on living my normal life
Except when I wasn't at work or at home
I was hunting
Hunting for the man that killed my friend
The one that took him from this world
Luckily the police found him first
I say that even though they later let him go
Still
Had I found him
My life would be very different than it is today
I helped carry Dennis's casket at his funeral
We buried his mother that day as well
Even though it took years for her to join him
Her soul went with his that day
I remember the last day I saw her
She handed me the keys to his car
She asked about Maria
But neither of us ever heard from her again
That night
After every one else had gone to bed
A young boy took a small box out of his closet
And left his house without making a sound
He went to a small field not far away
Dug a small hole with his father's shovel
And in it
Buried the box
In this box
There was a pack of Marlboros
Smoking would never be cool to him again
There was a small bottle of pills
Pills he had taken from his brother
Pills that he took sometimes
When he couldn't take the pain
A picture of his best friend
One he would carry with him
In his heart
For the rest of his life
And pieces of a broken gun
One he had smashed the day before
When no one else was home
Yes
There were several burials that day
Earlier I was there
When they put my best friend's body into the ground
I saw the death of a woman's soul
As she turned to drive away in her car
And later that night
A child went alone into an empty field
He buried part of my soul
And my childhood
In a small box there as well.
Childhood is a time for learning.
Often lessons are learned
That come with a very high price.
Ed Roberts 1/13/06
I got married and became a father at the age of eighteen
My sons often wondered why it was so important to me
That I knew what was in their closet
In their dresser drawers
And under their bed.
Both are grown now
My oldest is a father as well
Now they both understand
If they didn't before.
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Death of a Child hood
Death of a Child hood