He stands at the cross-roads of what’s
left of his shattered life; he ponders and
wonders as doubts set in. So much to
carry out yet so little time to fulfill
as he looks at his near empty glass.
His squander of time brought on by
his less want to do, his goals
aimless and meaningless, he faces
challenges of being alone, without
love, without a companion, without
a soul mate so lost for searching the
back roads of his past successful
achievements, without any
meaning they hold for him now.
He wept for his children as their
presence became no more, just
shadows of what they were to him,
like splinters of grass torn up from
their roots and cast to the wind,
never more to settle near him
and grow roots with him, forever
lost they were to his mortal soul.
Like a leper who covers his ugliness
with his robe, they run from him.
He sinks deeper into his pain.
His memory is fading not by his
own choice but by burnt circuits
of brain cells brought on by his own
abuse and pain he constantly feels,
he drinks away sorrows and wishes
for the night to end and give him
rest and peace, but it never ends,
this constant shattering of glass
in his head, the day he lost it all
and love left his heart and soul,
never to come out and play again.
His youth now left to haunt him
and return and slap him to the curb
and say I told you so, abused you
were then and abused you will be
again a slave to being unloved, he
cries and whimpers and wishes to
be reborn anew, a bite or kiss from
the spirit world, drawing him to
their own, allowing him to flee
from his world of madness,
emptiness and his own
He closes his eyes and regains
his strength to go on, stirred
from the shadows by his past
mentor and muse he takes one
more breathe and carries on.
Shattered but not broken he picks up his Quill.
© Copyright Vincent Moore 2012. All Rights Reserved