the man......he
called a loner
bound by only the knowledge
he read on the pages of experience's greatest novel
he once knew a life of touch
but....now....cold
as if it was his best known ally
his eyes oblivious to the color of sadness
red???......an imperfection of black and white mixed
when the last of his kin died
He stood there with perfect nonchalant
As if gods never smiled
Waiting for what the next minute would bring
hopefully even colder than the last
so the pain would be new......an unrelieved moment
despite being tasteless.....it was anything....something to hope for
he knew pain as only a memory
soon to be reborn.....
he had hoped for a trip down amnesia lane
but mind photos don't discolor or fade
bend or break
much like his spirit had done too long ago
for the point of reckoning to acknowledge
the beginning of his ending
accompanied by a shrill cry of despair
fell upon not deaf ears
but death's ears
a request he would dutifully obliged to
the touch of cold remnants upon
skin whose life tank was way past E
only confirmed what the man had felt for years
he cringed onto a stump
and his soul smiled for the first time
since he first felt his mother's breast warmth
he again found support.....if only for a few seconds before dark
Tacked to the trunk of the tree......his suicide note
The best poem he ever wrote.........
Written by Point_Of_View