Hope is the Right Word for This

He's there
smiling, laughing,
playing his guitar
the endless games of Monopoly he'd always win
His long black hair, gangster?
I'd say not
He's too kind for that
Too quiet and content
Too comforting
the little girl who sits in his shadow
never wants him to leave
But he does
Into the smoke
we cry, try to pull him back
He doesn't come
instead he goes deeper
into drugs,
into depression
too late to stop?
I'd say not
So I reach
I pull
Maybe he'll see my hand, our hands
and then he'll say
Why'd I go?
And he'll come back
I just want him to come back





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