Addiction Poem about Family

Death Of My Son From Heroin Overdose

I never even thought about writing a poem until the death of my son. He struggled with his addiction for about 10 years. His mother and I did all we could to avoid this outcome. It was a time of seemingly endless detox and rehab centers, 3am calls, etc. In the end, he lost his battle. Sadly, there was a kind of "inevitability" about it - to the point that perhaps he found the only way to end his struggle. He was 28 at the time of his death.

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The Ecstasy And The Agony

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Published: September 14, 2018

At long last the phone call.
Then the questions.
How?
Why?
Then comes the thundering roar -
Of silence in reply.

The first sleepless night;
Memories swarm like bees.
Finally the sun rises
On the first day that you will never see.

When did it all
Take a turn for the worse?
When did your blessings
Become such a curse?

When did the kid with the lemonade stand
Who loved riding his bike as far as he was able
Become the kid with the cigarette pack?
When did "help" turn into "enable"?

At last you discovered
That a rush without equal
Would fulfill all your dreams
And required only a needle.

But the needle is a harsh mistress
And she demands
Absolute faithfulness
To her commands.

Lie, cheat, steal
All this and more.
Just to pay homage
At the foot of her door.

She WILL NOT be "cured."
She WILL NOT "go away."
She WILL haunt you to the grave
For the rest of your days.

And what of the kid
With the lemonade stand?
He made one fatal choice, which
Only later did he understand.

The death of one so young
May seem sad beyond belief.
Yet sadder still the fact
That only death may give relief.

Would you condemn one so young
To this life he knows all too well?
Then God might ask, "What right have YOU
To sentence him to Hell?"

Beyond Death's door may lie
Some realm or land wherein
The miseries of life are lifted
And peace is found within.

But no map of THIS world
Points the way to such a land.
Either such a place does not exist
Or is beyond the ken of Man.

Can you see that kid upon his bike?
The joy upon his face?
Do not begrudge one final rush
As he races to Death's warm embrace.

He rides the wave of that mighty rush,
Misery fading into the past.
This world of woe not his concern
As his heart - slowly beats - its last.

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