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by Nomad
Rated: ASR · Poetry · Death · #2246127
In memory of a friend
Sitting atop the ashen tower
Overlooking a field of adolescent memories

The bus stop. The corner pizzeria -
Food fights in the cafeteria
Somehow they ended up with holes in the wall and pickles stuck to the ceiling

Or summer

It began here on this tower
Up here... pretending to study, shirts draped over the rail
Pushups to determine which of us was stronger
Which was more of a man

Hey - you had the car
'85 Mustang - 5.0, cherry red
We'd cruise town listening to Sebastian Back screaming

-screaming at us to remember yesterday-

Good friends since the beginning, and all they way until the last bell rang

Back at the tower, our refuge from the cold world and all that it thrust upon us
My first time back - and last
I can't feel them but I can hear my tears as clearly as I can hear that sound
The sound of the twisting metal of a blood red Mustang

Now, when I listen to that summer breeze
I can hear it calling to me, saying,

"Playtime's over. Your friend's gone home."
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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/2246127-The-Tower