Some of you - tens, even - have read my self-published book Learning To Jump Again, which started as a personal journal of grief after my father died. I eventually made it public in hopes that it could help others as they grieve the loss of a loved one.
Within that book were some poems, for better or worse.
When my friend Avery introduced me to the AI music-making website Suno, those poems changed for the better. Over time, I altered some of the language of the original poems to get a more singable cadence; in some, I added a chorus. In the process, I tried to find a soundtrack that matched the mood in my head.
Here is the first one.
I was at an aunt and uncle's house one holiday when I wrote this. It was at the end of a day of being with family, and I missed him so much, and this is just where I was at that moment. It's not hopeful - I have other songs that will get there - but it was honest, and I think God is fan of honesty, and big enough to handle my despair.
First, the updated poem/lyrics; second, a link to Suno if you care to listen.
My Father Just Shriveled
My father just shriveled, dried up in his bed.With my tears I watered the grave of the dead.
Then I staggered back home,
A few miles too far
from a father who loved me,
And who was not anymore.
Oh, death just keeps taking and stealing—
unrelenting and terribly bold.
I’ve been begging the sky for mercy,
But the heavens stay quiet and cold.
If grief is a river I’m drowning,
where does a broken man go?
Now my life’s stream is stagnant, losing its flow.
The source has dried up—how was I to know?
A wraith with a sickle stole my peace and my love,
And no water replenishes me from above.
Oh, death just keeps taking and stealing—
unrelenting and terribly bold.
I’ve been begging the sky for mercy,
But the heavens stay quiet and cold.
If grief is a river I’m drowning,
Where does a broken man go?
If death weren’t so sneaky, we’d meet, he and I
If death weren’t so cold, I would greet him.
If death could stop haunting our stories and songs,
We would not have to think of him quite so damn long.
But death is a robber who aims for our souls;
Our lives he despises while grief rivers roll.
He’s cold in his heart, And as fierce as a fire—
and he constantly robs us of those we desire
To stay,
And to live,
And to love.
Oh, death just keeps taking and stealing—
unrelenting and terribly bold.
I’ve been begging the sky for mercy,
But the heavens stay quiet and cold.
If grief is a river I’m drowning,
Tell me—where does a broken man go?
Where does a broken man go?
https://suno.com/s/91204PbTUXUhx1l3
