He Turned the Key
What did he enter? His world of solitude,
loneliness and depression, a familiar place
where days turn into nights and echoes
of hollowness drip from a rusted faucet.
Leftovers slowly rotting in a humming
fridge while arm and hammer fail to
absorb all odors efficiently.
Dishes pile in the sink while the ink
dries on the pages left blank with
attempts to encourage its pen holder
to think, think and pull the words
from deep within.
He cries awhile, face bowed in hands
shaking violently from the white line
he sniffed begging forgiveness for the
wrongs committed in his solitary life.
Where did it all go? Love died, his soul
empty and begging to die and be let go.
Turn it up and let the neighbors scream
and beat upon each other then pour
another glass of cheap wine sit back
and dream of better years gone by
when children played before you
and a house was a home and Santa
The clock is ticking louder these
days and the sand in his hour
glass falls quicker to the bottomless
Harboring guilt he ages in colors
of grey and black remembering
barely as his memory fades.
No longer a proud man, he bows
and falls to both knees before
his god crying and weeping aloud,
but no one cares he hears just
the gnashing of teeth.
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