Mad Metropolis

Mad Metropolis
Corruption inside my soul
Someone pulled the trigger
Pointed it at my heart
And let it all go
On the streets of desperation
Shadows keep walking by
Ghosts of many nightmares
Walk upon us everyday
They own the city
This mad circus, untamed
Charming us senseless
With tricks and toys of the visual kind
Lurking in the curtains of Midnight
Representation of my spirit
Mirrored into the air
I can feel my breath leaving my body
Wanting to scream, something careless
Words to pierce the soul of the wicked
Force that follows me, shattering their strength
In to a million, unfixable pieces, on the floor
Turning the tragedy and sadness their way
For once, I have the force field to
Prevent the fatal future the streets of this
Maniac metropolis poison us slowly with
Yes, the city has gone mad
I can’t run from its taunting laughter
Into the streets, upon streets
Every block just the same as the last
City is mad
Someone pull the trigger
Let the maniac go and
Release us from its painful grip
The world is just a metropolis
Gone mad
~ J. Lefever ~
This piece is dedicated to my brother. He would understand what I mean by these words. ( ~Sis )
©Think. Speak. Tryst. Publication

The Road to Nowhere…


Stretched out, all over the world are roads to somewhere.  Most people use these roads everyday, to get to work, to the store, or to a friend’s house… we use them to travel and explore, to work and build, the use of these roads always has some kind of outcome… a finished project, a destination arrived at, sometimes a road even leads to a final resting place.  My point is that all roads lead somewhere.

Last friday, which was October 5th, 2012, Kansas City Homicide Detectives notified my family that the person responsible for shooting my brother, Dave Lefever, has been identified and charges have been made.  He now faces murder in the 2nd degree and awaits trial in Jackson County, Missouri. 

My family and I are doing the very beat we can.  We all miss Dave more than words can describe.  The days don’t get easier, I think we just become more numb to it.  We are a family of 4, not 3.  It’s never going to be the same.  My dad, Larry Lefever, called to tell me the news of the arrest of the person responsible for killing my brother.  I knew right away he had some news, as he was a little shook up on the phone.  And as it is common for others to ask, the question has been answered, “No. I don’t feel much better about any of this.  Even with this person behind bars, it’s not ever going to bring my brother back.  No, there really isn’t a feeling of closure.” All it is, to me, is the name of a strange person whom I don’t know, and information that this person now sits in jail waiting for a trial regarding the murder of Dave Lefever.  That’s all.  Nothing else.

I think about that person, who shot my brother.  As he sits in jail, knowing that he shot and killed an innocent person, for no other reason than an attempt to wrongfully take a couple hundred dollars that didn’t belong to him in the first place, what goes through his mind? Does he regret what he did?  Does he think about all the people who loved Dave so much that now have to live without him, all because he put a gun to his back and pulled the trigger…  Does he think about the life that got cut short, the person who will not see his 30th birthday? 

I have up’s and downs.  There are moments in which I’m glad, so glad this person is in jail.  He doesn’t deserve to be free, living his life, laughing and smiling, after he shot an innocent person and had such a devastating aftermath to all the family and loved ones.  He deserves to sit, locked up, waiting on the unknown… because that’s just it.  Unknown.  Will he get convicted? If so, how much time will he serve?  How long is right punishment for taking a life, because that life he took is gone forever, not just 15 years.  So why should he get a lesser sentence than the rest of his life? I don’t get to see my brother for the rest of my life?  What warrants punishment fulfilled for a crime that has ‘forever’ consequences?  And there are moments when it really doesn’t matter.  Dave isn’t coming home.  So what does it really matter…

The person who took the life of my brother is only 19 years old.  If he gets convicted, as he should, the next time he will be in a car will be in handcuffs, getting transported to a state prison, and riding in the back of a police car, that is driving him on a road, to nowhere…

~ Jen Lefever Wood

The Day My World Changed (More on the death of my brother)

There is a lovely poetic duet written with a similar thought in mind, but with a more positive message, in my opinion. It is on a fantastic blog, Hastywords, under the catagory Poetic Duets. You can click HERE to find it! Enjoy 🙂

The Day My World Changed…

The warmth of spring was beginning to elevate my nerves.  I couldn’t wait for June 28th to come. I could go out on the yard and smoke cigarettes with the other inmates and talk of all the things I was going to do when I got out of prison.  My sentence was short, just some shock time for a non violent charge that I was already on probation for, but had unfortunately violated. The whole experience of this is something that I, in my 30 years, never thought I’d live first hand. Considering the first time I was ever arrested was when I was 28.  Needless to say, by the time I was 29 and facing my 30th birthday, I was no where close to where I wanted to be at the age of 30 and went into utter and complete self sabotage.  This is just scratching the surface, in-a-nut-shell, quick rundown of what I was even doing on a prison yard. (More on this to come)

The weather was hot. Really hot for May and the beginning of June. I had decided not to hold resentments, but to move on, move forward, and serve productive time.  I truly believed in my heart that in the grand paradox of this world as we know it… there was a significant reason that I was there.  So that’s how I embraced each and every day.  Positively speaking, it helped me through this tough time of my life, serving time, but truthfully, the inside of a prison killed a little part of my soul everyday, and I couldn’t wait to get out.

I spoke to my husband, Jake, everyday, and also my parents who were all supportive, loving, and just as excited to have me home as I was to be there.  I had a job in the prison that I worked at about 30 hours a week.  I also attended classes in the drug treatment program, as I am a recovering heroin addict. I stayed busy and I felt better than I had in years… mentally, physically, and spiritually.  I was teaching a little and giving lectures toward the end of my sentence and I really enjoyed speaking and connecting with the others, hoping only to make a difference in at least one persons life.  If I accomplished at least that, I was fulfilled and satisfied. 

The afternoon of June 8th was a thursday.  I was a mere 14 days to freedom and I was all lost up in my mind with thoughts of seeing Jake for the first time in over five months, and my brother, Dave, Mom and Dad.  (Oh and my puppies too.. I have two dogs.  The best two dogs in the whole world)  I was planning out my summer of freedom to be the best summer I’ve seen in a long time!  I had new appreciation for life.  I had been extremely humbled by this experience.  I was more patient, thoughtful, and aware of myself, and all of these things felt amazing to me.  Also, I was able to fall asleep at night naturally and get through each day with out the use of heroin, and that in itself, is completely priceless to me.  It had been years since I felt this healthy, normal, and put together all in one piece.  I was alive again, and I was days from being reunited with my loved ones!

So it was thursday afternoon, on June 8th, when D.O.C (Department of Corrections) officers came to my housing unit and pulled me into a conference room.  I had no idea what was going on.  I thought maybe there is news from the Probation officer, the state? What..had no clue.  I certainly had no clue that I was about to feel the worst pain I had ever felt, after receiving the worst news I could have ever imagined.

The conference room had a handful of people in it, all sitting around a white table with these solemn looks painted on their faces.  My intuition knew that something, something was wrong, something was bad, and that I wasn’t there to receive happy news.  There was a phone on the table, and the receiver was detached from the base and it was sitting on the table, waiting for me to pick it up.  All eyes were on me, as I stared, suddenly introverted and scared, at the phone.  I heard someone one say, “Jen, your father is on the phone…”

I picked the phone up.  Dad’s voice came through like warm sunshine after a cold storm.  It is his familiar tone, the deep, strong voice that had raised me and I had always looked up to and felt safe from anything, anything in this world that might hurt or frighten me.  It was my Dad.  I remember his words verbatim, but that’s where I keep them, in my memory, in my mind.  My dad called the prison in Vandalia, Missouri to tell his daughter that our family of four was now just three.  My brother, my little brother just two years younger than I, had been shot and killed in Kansas City just the day before.

The room turned white.  My knees hit the floor and I dropped the phone.  I couldn’t hear, I couldn’t see and I don’t remember much except not being able to breathe and feeling claustrophobic beyond alleviation.  I could not go to my family.  I could not run…. anywhere.  I was trapped, in prison, with the tragic news that broke my heart.

My whole world fell apart in that conference room.  I thought of many things.  The last time I saw Dave.  The last time we spoke on the phone.  The last letters I wrote to him from there.  And the tears never stopped because through all my thinking, I was slapped with the reality that I never get to see him or talk to him again.  Ever.  This still makes me fall apart, and probably always will.  My brother and I were best friends.  We were as tight as any two siblings could be, and always were, always would have been. 

I remember what it felt like inside.  What it felt like to be me all of a sudden.  Like part of me had died, because that’s actually what happened.  Dave was my other half, my blood, best friend, we knew each other better than anyone.  The best way I can describe it is like a yin~yang.  There is no yin without the yang.  It has always been Jen and Dave, not just Jen.  I went to prison with a brother and came out without one.  I was, I am still, I will always be devastated.

I have been waiting to write about this since I got home.  Hesitant to put pen to paper, to even type these words.  I guess the reality of Dave being gone will never ever get easier, so now is as good as any time to write.  Honestly, it’s hard to see in black and white.  It is quite draining to write about this, but there is more to come..  It’s good for my soul to get these words out –

Dave ~ Bro.. I miss you more than words can describe.  I would do anything… anything to bring you back.  I. Miss. You. Everyday.  ~Sis



My brother, my best friend, one of the smartest, funniest, and kindest people I have ever known.

David Lawrence Lefever
August 25, 1983-June 7, 2012