TO GRAMPS

TO GRAMPS

two forks in the road

To my oldest and best friend

a friend in need is there till the end.

I'll stand by your side and hold your hand

buy you flowers and dream of you in a distant land.

And when I get old and gray

by your grave I will pass away.

When I wake and get judged by The Man

I hope you will stand tall for me and touch my hand.

For a true friend is there in the beginning

in the middle

and in the end.

THE LAST RIDE HOME

(The Motorcycle Accident that killed Kim Hubert, by Robert Margetts..Acrylic paint on canvas)

To my friend—

for I cannot speak,

my words are written

through another man.

 

I am sorry—

sorry it ended this way,

sorry for the pain I caused

through my foolish act.

I took another life,

not in self‑defense,

and I took a little of you with me.

 

Forgive me,

but do not forget me,

for I shall never forget you.

And when you are older,

take pity on a young fool.

Learn from my mistakes.

Never again will I touch,

never again will I cry,

never again will I dream

or savor the feel of water upon my lips.

But remember this:

I walk near you at all times,

and when you cry for me,

my memories grow stronger.

Remember me.

Please— remember me.

www.batkar.artistwebsites.com

WHAT'S THE MEANING OF THIS POEM?

This poem is about remorse, memory, and the fragile thread that connects the living to those who are gone. It’s a letter of apology, a plea for forgiveness, and a reminder that even those who make terrible mistakes still long to be remembered with compassion.

A Mi Amigo

A mi amigo, pues no puedo hablar; mis palabras se escriben a través de otro hombre.

Lo siento, lo siento por haber terminado así, lo siento por el dolor que causé con mi acto insensato.

Tomé otra vida, no en defensa propia, y también me llevé una parte de ti.

Perdóname, pero no me olvides, pues yo jamás te olvidaré.

Y cuando seas mayor, ten piedad de un joven necio.

Aprende de mis errores. Nunca más tocaré, nunca más lloraré, nunca más soñaré ni saborearé el agua sobre mis labios.

Pero recuerda esto: camino cerca de ti en todo momento, y cuando llores por mí, mis recuerdos se harán más fuertes.

Recuérdame. Por favor… recuérdame.

THE ROCKING CHAIR



THE ROCKING CHAIR

My sister Sharon
acrylic paint on canvas by Robert Margetts

Another ember crackled in the fire

as the whispering winds of past

echoed silence outside my door.

The rocking of the smooth pine

kept time like an aged pentameter

slowly winding down.

And the rhythmic swaying

slowly lulled my bones to rest.

A tickle in my eye misted my squinted greens

and the thought of death

gave a smile upon a wrinkled face.

The crackling on the floorboards

moaned under the weight.

And life dripped into the decade

old grooves that had worn its

way into the tracks that I had chosen.

The last pass of the pendulum

as the sickle makes it mark.

The chair ground to a halt

as the pianist clamped the lid on the box.