In Memoriam
Apr. 15th, 2002 01:21 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
beandelphikiOkay, I apologize in advance for the long entry, but I do feel the need. In first period today, we were dismissed until the next class while the teachers had a sudden meeting. It turns out that a kid in our graduating class died in an avalanche while snowboarding this weekend. I wasn't a good friend of his, but I've known him since gr. 7, and it was just like, Oh God... So now I'm home, I couldn't face the rest of the day. Neither could my friend Pat, who informed me on the way home that Drama 30 (including involved techs) was supposed to have an important meeting at lunch today. I somehow missed this. SORRY KAT! Anyways, I wrote this poem. It kind of stinks, but it's the best I can do at the moment. *sighs*
Kevin Coupland - In Memoriam
He found the coldest resting place,
I wish I'd never seen his face,
or maybe I wish I'd seen it more.
What bothers me the most,
is classrooms carry his ghost,
and students drift from floor to floor.
Six years I knew him, passing by,
now I am surprised to cry,
ashamed 'til I see other's tears.
Kids clump together in little groups,
red eyes and ears, and faces droop,
full of grief and wild fears.
Girls are in the hallway, kissing,
his face is there, but yet is missing.
TV crews play their little game.
No one screams and no one shouts,
silenced by a life washed out.
Nothing will ever be the same.
In other great news, *deep sarcasm* one of my friends, Val, was sexually assaulted this weekend by one of her co-workers. Yeah, it's turning out to be a great week.
And I HATE reporters now. This is the second time we've been harassed by them in the same number of weeks. Today, there were something like 6 or 7 cameras on our front lawn. Hello, our friend just died. A little privacy? A little respect? A little sensitivity?
He found the coldest resting place,
I wish I'd never seen his face,
or maybe I wish I'd seen it more.
What bothers me the most,
is classrooms carry his ghost,
and students drift from floor to floor.
Six years I knew him, passing by,
now I am surprised to cry,
ashamed 'til I see other's tears.
Kids clump together in little groups,
red eyes and ears, and faces droop,
full of grief and wild fears.
Girls are in the hallway, kissing,
his face is there, but yet is missing.
TV crews play their little game.
No one screams and no one shouts,
silenced by a life washed out.
Nothing will ever be the same.
In other great news, *deep sarcasm* one of my friends, Val, was sexually assaulted this weekend by one of her co-workers. Yeah, it's turning out to be a great week.
And I HATE reporters now. This is the second time we've been harassed by them in the same number of weeks. Today, there were something like 6 or 7 cameras on our front lawn. Hello, our friend just died. A little privacy? A little respect? A little sensitivity?
