It seemed to me that
The night that he died
Was the night I realized
That I couldn’t see
As many stars as I could before.

When I was younger
And innocence was abundant,
I could name
Every star I saw.
I could see them
As far as the sky stretched out
In its inky black canvas.

And when my mind
Was filled with whisky
I still saw them
Only sometimes
A star or two
Would wink in and out of existence
As if teasing me…

The stars were my friends
When wisps of cigarette smoke
Would rise from my lips
And lose themselves in air
And I would have silent,
Intelligent conversations
With my friends
Miles away
And yet so near
I could almost touch them
If my dreams allowed it.

But then the deed happened
And there I suddenly
Started to lose sight of them.

Where a multitude –
A nebula –
Once lay,
Now I only saw black
And the pin points of light,
The friends I had as I grew up
Suddenly dimmed
And died…

And the little lights
That guided me home
And oversaw my nights,
The little friends
That once were my sign of hope,
Of innocence,
Were fading
Till all there was left
Was a lone star,
Standing amidst a sea of black,
Wondering why it was suddenly so alone
In a world previously filled with so much light.

(Why am I so alone
In a world where I once
Was innocent?)