Despair by Ron Walls

 

 

Eternal Silence by Dexter Graves

Despair

 I can no longer speak loudly and unafraid

 My voice trembles as my lips quiver and shake

 Wrinkles I have acquired appear weary and drawn

 The master of destiny has fell on his knees

 Agnostic winds are blowing the leaves

 Summer unending degrades to a squall

 Past feelings and goals of personal best

 Now distant reflections cast off in the quest

 My own inurnment may provide some rest

— Ron Walls

 

 

Those words resonated strongly with me when I first read them.

I never thought of my friend Wally as a poet …  just … not something that came up in discussion.  We talked of girls, what the other guys were doing, beer.  Not thought of poetry.

We last saw each other … maybe ten years ago.

A few weeks ago an informal class reunion created the opportunity for us to re-connect.

I think we found that both of us held the other in higher regard than either of us expected.

Playing a Round

We talked a lot about the life transitions we had been through and those that were underway.  It felt good to reconnect.

A couple weeks later I get a brief message requesting an update on my contact information and the following statements, “My wife and children departed for Wisconsin Saturday.  I am now attempting to get this new used computer up and running with my new data and email files. ”

Innocuous, except when followed by Despair … the poem above.

When I responded with my contact information, I asked if the poem was his and how he was doing.

He responded with, “No I am not going to hurt myself, however, how many Boomers do you think have felt that way?  I wrote it while I was feeling down, just a poem.  This house is mighty big and empty when the family is gone.  I am just hanging out attempting to figure out what to do when I grow up.”

My response was, “Join the club.  Aging seems to be mandatory, but growing up is not.”

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