Lead Balloons

have a party for me when I am gone,
happy in the knowledge that I
was never supposed to attend it

my life was a constant
bursting of balloons,
loud noises and clowns
that terrorized my nights
and left me craving solitude

the bubbles that rise so
blissfully to the surface
of your champagne seemed
always full of lead in mine,
sluggishly rolling over the
bottom of the glass, refusing
to even attempt the surface

fill the house with laughter;
savour the flavours I could
never come to terms with,
and when the merriment is done -
when the wick has turned to ash -
perhaps it there we can meet and
find some true accord:

with the peace;
in the dark

--

Ben Pickard 2021