52
Part Three - Reprise
It is too soon
to invoke their names—too soon,
and far, far
too late.
Too soon to
seek closure,
too soon
to consider healing.
It is too soon,
and far, far too late.
I tell myself I don't
need poetry.
I need sleep, and food, and comfort
—I don't need
poetry.
The world has changed, and yet,
stayed the same.
The evil that has been done
bears a familiar face,
a face
we have all seen before:
the monster lurking
beneath our bed,
hiding, but a
lways
there.
I do not need
poetry,
for when the world falls into
churning chaos,
even words
don't make
sense.
I did not know
Eddie Justice,
but now
I do.