Norah Jones

By Michael Gomes

 

I knew of three men,

Brought together by sand.

When ill were their moods,

Norah Jones and Backwoods.

These chased away the blue.

A black Mercedes for Lou.

These men are no more,

The abyss is a whore.

One took his own life,

Another taken from wife.

My friends A and Lou,

Were decapitated those two.

Now here I sit,

My Backwoods cigar alit.

“Come away with me” in the air,

Into the abyss I stare.

Missing my friends,

Resenting their ends…

Every now and then,

I think of them again.

For I am the third you see,

I could not kill me.

As much as I have tried,

I am the friend that has not died.

Everyday the thought comes to mind,

But life to me is not as kind.

After therapy and meds,

I can deal with the stress.

Self-loathing and all,

I will not fall.

There is a purpose for me,

I just cannot see.

I continue with life,

Be it happy or strife.

Still missing my friends,

Still resenting their ends…

Norah Jones now less in my life,

Few years now I divorced my wife.

Still dealing with the stress,

Still needing therapy and meds.

This life is no easier for me,

Continued longing for war and tea.

New job and new life,

No end to this strife.

I often think of the times I shared,

With A and Lou, seldom scared.

Many disagree,

But you get used to war you see.

For those who dare not go,

The abyss they shall not know.

“Good for them,” I say,

For they will not have to spend a day:

Ever missing their friends,

Ever resenting their ends…

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Categories: Iraq, Issue 3 | Tags: | Leave a comment

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