Not Forgotten
Noel Laflin
December 1, 2015
On this, the 28th anniversary of the World AIDS Day Observance:
Why
I lived, while so many others did not –
I will never know for certain.
Is there survivor's guilt, you ask.
Yes.
But I have tried to replace it - over time - with fond remembrance,
As I am here to still bear witness, a quarter of a century later,
That they indeed did live and breathe,
Love, contribute, care and create -
If only, for a limited life engagement.
So here’s to the memory of Tom, Jeremy, Rick, David, John,
Lane, Doug, Jerry, Jim ...
And oh, so many more to recall.
But you all live in memory lads - you are not forgotten.
I will never know for certain.
Is there survivor's guilt, you ask.
Yes.
But I have tried to replace it - over time - with fond remembrance,
As I am here to still bear witness, a quarter of a century later,
That they indeed did live and breathe,
Love, contribute, care and create -
If only, for a limited life engagement.
So here’s to the memory of Tom, Jeremy, Rick, David, John,
Lane, Doug, Jerry, Jim ...
And oh, so many more to recall.
But you all live in memory lads - you are not forgotten.
"What lips my lips have kissed, and where,
and why,
I have forgotten, and what arms have lain
Under my head till morning; but the rain
Is full of ghosts tonight, that tap and sigh
Upon the glass and listen for reply,
And in my heart there stirs a quiet pain
For unremembered lads that not again
Will turn to me at midnight with a cry.
Thus in winter stands the lonely tree,
Nor knows what birds have vanished one by one,
Yet knows its boughs more silent than before:
I cannot say what loves have come and gone,
I only know that summer sang in me
A little while, that in me sings no more."
Edna St. Vincent Millay
I have forgotten, and what arms have lain
Under my head till morning; but the rain
Is full of ghosts tonight, that tap and sigh
Upon the glass and listen for reply,
And in my heart there stirs a quiet pain
For unremembered lads that not again
Will turn to me at midnight with a cry.
Thus in winter stands the lonely tree,
Nor knows what birds have vanished one by one,
Yet knows its boughs more silent than before:
I cannot say what loves have come and gone,
I only know that summer sang in me
A little while, that in me sings no more."
Edna St. Vincent Millay
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