Definition of Elegy
An Elegy is a sad and thoughtful poem lamenting the death of a person. An example of this type of poem is Thomas Gray's "Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard."
Jason
He was supposed to be
He was supposed to be
the boy I'd always wonder about.
The boy you knew before boys mattered,
the one you secretly loved but never told so.
He was the boy who rolled my yard
who my father loathed and glared at
the only kid in the neighborhood not
welcome to come into the house in fact.
And I adored him.
He was devil may care, play the drums
say curse words and I thought
he was everything when I was twelve.
You don't forget that and even though
he flunked a grade, as we grew older
I still thought he was special, I still adored him.
We would say, "You won't live to be sixteen
doing stupid stuff like that." Every adult
loathed him for playing chicken with cars
on his skateboard. They gave him ADD
medicine and sent him to school,
spanked him, they tried everything.
But I loved him because he called
my house and sang to me, mostly
Stevie Wonder.
He lived to be sixteen but twenty one
was one too far, he overdosed,
the casket was closed and I still
think I will run into him one day.
"Jason," I'll say smiling
"How have you been?"
He'll say "Good, so good to see you."
Then we will walk away and I will remember
his voice cracking and his smile
that made me hope. The way his hair fell
on his head in neat curls, wet from the neighborhood pool.
Maybe some day
I'll forget that casket, that plot of ground
where they buried so many dreams.
Mine, his, his mother's...
Hopes strewn like seeds on the rocks,
never actually dead,
because we don't let go of them,
but never actually growing either.
And all we are left with is what isn't
and what it was supposed to be.
He was devil may care, play the drums
say curse words and I thought
he was everything when I was twelve.
You don't forget that and even though
he flunked a grade, as we grew older
I still thought he was special, I still adored him.
We would say, "You won't live to be sixteen
doing stupid stuff like that." Every adult
loathed him for playing chicken with cars
on his skateboard. They gave him ADD
medicine and sent him to school,
spanked him, they tried everything.
But I loved him because he called
my house and sang to me, mostly
Stevie Wonder.
He lived to be sixteen but twenty one
was one too far, he overdosed,
the casket was closed and I still
think I will run into him one day.
"Jason," I'll say smiling
"How have you been?"
He'll say "Good, so good to see you."
Then we will walk away and I will remember
his voice cracking and his smile
that made me hope. The way his hair fell
on his head in neat curls, wet from the neighborhood pool.
Maybe some day
I'll forget that casket, that plot of ground
where they buried so many dreams.
Mine, his, his mother's...
Hopes strewn like seeds on the rocks,
never actually dead,
because we don't let go of them,
but never actually growing either.
And all we are left with is what isn't
and what it was supposed to be.
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