"We chase misprinted lies
We face the path of time
And yet I fight
And yet I fight
This battle all alone
No one to cry to
No place to call home"

- Layne Staley
from "Nutshell", track #2 on "Jar of Flies"

Layne, you'll not need to suffer
Under the shadow of loneliness any longer
For you now know how it feels to be free.

We're all at least a little envious of you,
You who rose up from the audience,
From the cradle to the stage,
And made your voice heard,
And, my, what a voice it was.
Droplet words in the mist of your song.
Precipitating the walls in a slippery sheet of music,
So wet, so crisp, so damp a shawl
One might even finger one's own lyrics, with childlike awe,
In the notes dripping out at times,
Others gushing forth from the amplifiers.
Yes, we're all at least a little jealous of you
And we all love you for it.

You may not have found your true abode,
But you definitely seem to have found a home,
A auditory path of magick
And you've taken us all with you
And we all love you for it.

You've shown us all that music is
The cheapest, safest, strongest addiction in existence
And an addiction one may be proud to support.
You've shown us all, Layne.

You've shown us what it would look and sound like
If a Viking sailed through a vortex in the space-time cuntinuum,
Heard Rock-n-Roll, and decided to make it his way.

Ultimately, you've shown us the way,
How musikk could be,
If taken seriously.

Lo, you've been born again
And now that you've moved on,
Ready for your next life-shaking mission,
Try not to shake lives too much.
You're a lot more powerful than you give youself credit for.

We'll miss you, Layne.

04/07/2005

Author's Note: This poem is for the late, great Layne Staley. I've been meaning to write this poem ever since the day I found out that he died, but I never quite got around to it. Finally, last night, I was browsing through my computer files and came across a picture of him I'd saved some number of years ago, and I was reminded of his work and my wanting to write a poem for him. That picture of him is the preview image above. I really wish I could've done a better job on this poem. I think it's really weak, especially when written for a man like him. I really wonder how far Alice in Chains could've gone if Layne had never been involved with drugs, because they were mind-blowingly talented, but then, most of their art came from his drug addiction. All in all, I really miss him, and I hope I'm not alone. Any and all criticism is very welcome, because eventually, I'm planning on getting my poetry published, and I'd especially like for this one to be as good as it can be. All in all, I hope you like it.

Posted on 04/08/2005
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