…beyond help!
…baby cries, life begins, a race to nowhere,
walking on the trails of mortals, every step,
a brisk fast trot on God’s earth, a journey
to an end we already know, Oh Amy…
from your first baby cry, we knew, we knew
like everyone else, you were beyond help.
You made the earth your playground
bent on grabbing your own piece, yeah,
you knew, you knew, God doesn’t make
earth any more, only those on the fast lane
can catch up, own a piece…then drop it,
before jumping off, yeah, you knew,
no one gets off alive, we are beyond help
it’s a stage we live, everyone playing to a niche crowd,
we run on the fast lane, cramming, stuffing stuff into the
system, moths, we are drawn to the fire, we burn,
the crowd cheer, energized we burn all over, and
the silence that follows, only pull us back to the burner…
we jump off stage, another must come,
the ash we leave is made of pieces of ourselves
and broken dreams
…they say you were beyond help, yet we
know, if we had listened to your song, instead of glorifying
the pain, if we had held your hand, instead
of cheering you on, if had we cried, instead of dancing,
if we had showed you the image, instead of making you
the image; Oh Amy…from your first baby cry,
we knew, we knew, like everyone else, you were beyond help.
dave chukwuji
PS
Some people glide through this world without even parting the waters. There are those who drown us in tears by their passing. I didn't know Amy Winehouse, can't even count myself amongst her fans. I only listened to a few of her song and was deeply struck by pain she left in our consciousness. Yet, when news of her death began to make the rounds...something inside of me gave. It's amazing that such a talent could just piss away her life in a very short time. And there in lies the irony. She live a short life that would leave a very long legacy. This poem is for her...
