Elegy for David Jones
I never knew you, David Jones,
not the man, the musician,
not the polite, intelligent boy
I only vaguely remember from our days in school.
But, melancholy marked,
the marrow in your bones
makes other “others”
brothers in blood of a cruel
relentless misery I do know
and I do remember
Too too well.
I wish I knew you, David Jones,
The talented artist, the punk rock poet.
Not the tragic figure you’ve become
on Facebook posts of our friends from school.
But, I’m still worrying weighty stones
the unsung monuments to unsuccess
and the enemy you
lost your battle to
who stole all your hopes and dreams
and buried them somewhere
where I’ll always know to look
and I’ll always remember
to keep you in mind.
About the Author
Frank Mundo is the author of The Brubury Tales. He lives in Rancho Cucamonga, California, with his wife, Nancy.