Come To Me In Your Darkest Hour:
More Original Poems For & About Tim
I have just started this page, as I have had several requests to posts more poems about Timothy McVeigh, his life and his execution. So far I have five, so here they are:
A Bittersweet Passage
Dawn emerged from its nightly cocoon,But you couldn't see the bright, pink-splashed sky.
At least you did get a last look at the moon
And had a chance to tell Mother Nature good-bye.
If I could only have been there with you,
In that stifling and windowless house of damp death,
I'd have made certain that you could feel hope shine anew,
And that you'd feel saved as you took your last breath.
The chamber was close---a mere thin wall away.
That death was so close---you were so well aware.
It was such a sad time and such a stark, dismal day.
I wished so much that I could have been there.
You did your brave best to keep spirits held high.
Letters and ice cream helped muffle your pain.
Many wanted you dead, but I'm not certain why.
On their hands there remains a faint, bloody stain.
I didn't tune in as you took your last walk.
I didn't count down your last minutes of life.
It all would have been just too much of a shock.
Still, I cried that your time here was filled with such strife.
Reflections Of Times Past and Present
It's been eight months---may as well have been one.Thirty-two weeks of emptiness; countless days of regret.
Sometimes I pretend that your life wasn't done
And that, at some special point, we two could have met.
I often wonder just what I'd have spoken to you.
Could I say that I cared more than fate had allowed?
Could all words from my mouth been both real and so true?
I'd likely have come up to you with my head bowed.
What if you'd disliked me? Would you just turn and leave?
Would my words of encouragement fall on deaf ears?
If you were with me right now, I would make you believe,
That I and others like me wanted you to live years.
It's all moot now--I'm writing this more for myself.
You're gone and will never be with us again.
But can I just put everything high on a shelf?
Close my eyes and slowly count up to ten?
I hope you are happy and finally at peace.
This world held nothing for you at all.
I know that you saw your death as a release,
And that you climbed to heaven when you got the call.
Failure To Thrive
I can't stop imagining that sweet little kid;The animal lover who so wanted to please.
Something darkened his world as the years by him slid,
T'was as if his heart succumbed to a wasting disease.
Suddenly, the sun wouldn't shine when he ventured outside.
Dark clouds would gather, filled with cold rain.
His emotional pain he just couldn't abide.
On his soul disillusionment left a large stain.
If only his silent cries for help had been heard.
If only he'd told someone of the demons he faced.
Of the inner torture, he said not a word.
Afraid that his family would be disgraced.
Now it's far too late for "what ifs" and "if only."
Hindsight is perfect, but we mortals are not.
All his life, the sad boy had felt lonely.
Nobody saw the large monsters he fought.
Below is a picture of the van that transported Tim McVeigh to the death house, early Sunday morning of June 10th, 2001:
A Guilty Heart
Walk with me now and ignore the loud clamour.Let's emerge from this stifling bunker at last.
There's no need to falter and no reason to stammer.
Your time of raw suffering will have very soon passed.
I'm thinking up ways we can be together.
Those prison guards balk at any contact between us.
As the two of us go, they're at the end of their tether.
I cannot understand why they make so much fuss.
In my fantasy, I'm in the death house with you.
We're both on your cot, in a friendly embrace.
I stare into your eyes---they're a rich shade of blue.
Oh how did you ever end up in this place?
If I dared to ask if you'd want to kiss me,
I'd steel myself against a possible debase.
After all, there are those more alluring than I'll ever be.
But then, how can one pick and choose in this terrible place?
To my great surprise, you lean closer and smile.
I've waited so long for that gesture from you.
Did you know that I'd travelled for many a mile?
I knew this was something I just had to do.
I'm awash in guilt for wanting your love.
Can you fully erase my anxiety, Tim?
I look for some answers as I gaze up above.
And I know that this time I would sink or I'd swim.
Face To Face With A Harbinger Of Death
Tell me, executioner: Do you enjoy your work?Legal killing seems to be your claim to fame.
When you push that lethal button, does your face reflect a smirk?
To you this might just be a casual game.
Tell me, executioner: Why hide behind a wall?
You're hidden from your prey-----does that thought disrupt your calm?
I realize you must steel yourself so you won't react at all.
And you fend off any sense of dread by whispering a psalm.
Tell me, executioner: Did you always dream of this?
Was it a boyhood wish that sent you on this morbid quest?
Did you say, "Hey, Mommie, executioners are really, really cool"?
I'll venture that you worked very hard to be the best.
Did your choice of occupation make you grin and cheer and drool?
Tell me, executioner: How do you sleep at night?
You're a hit man of sorts, shooting fish in a tank.
Don't qualify your killing---what you do cannot be right.
That you're gainfully employed, you've all your sad victims to thank.
