The embers fading in the failing light
let out a crackle,
dropping from his dying hand.
The glass pipe shattered on his final night
as he lay facedown, silent in the sand.
Just sixteen years had left their music on his mind,
just sixteen years to feel the wind and sun.
He fell in love, played ball, and laughed,
and now still fresh, his place in time was done.
He had felt the power and the joy
course fiercely through his brain.
Once loved, immortal in his youth,
the world was his again.
He had felt the tightness in his chest,
the sea spun double-time around his head.
He prayed that moment, wanting life,
that moment gone, was dead.
His mother cried and wondered
how her son could hurt her so;
his father blamed his friends at school
and he, unable to respond,
could never let them know.
The fault was not his friends at school,
it wasn't love or hate,
just foolish fun on empty days,
he'd tried to fill in foolish ways,
until it was too late.
Just sixteen years to learn and thrive,
to reach his soul's endeavor.
Just sixteen years to be alive
and now he's gone forever.