He walked away and he wasn’t walking tall
He shrouded and hunkered;
Fixed and determined and leaving.
Under one arm was clutched a notebook
Used regularly for scribblings and incidentals,
The other held nothing:
Bare, sober, exposed.
Not waving or weighing, but tucked neatly inside
A warm and worn pocket
Reserved for the odd receipt.
But mostly for his hand, unconsciously scrunched
Into a ball that hardly swayed
As his slouch carried him away.
The torment of age pulls at every crevice of my countenance it can find
Dropping my cheeks into a hollow pit of agony only my mirror doesn’t grimace at
Hair streaking with uninterrupted hurt, curling the edges of my toes
Pulling me into a shallow slouch the clock on the wall envies
So where did the first signs of this painful agony surface
A gloom so rich with heartache and pitiful distrust even Demeter would cry for
In spite visible agony the poison tipped arrow repeatedly plunges
Unstoppable in its fury to forget that which hurt the lovers
With cries that rang out into the mild winters night alone
Lightly highlighted clouds turned in their unrest
Dancing with Hades around the fire of revenge
Unbeknownst to them white flags suffocated their children
Hurry in an Angels grace, with all lost reasons
Against all miseries of yesterdays woes
Into the hands weeping eyes have never sanctified
Into a lover yet to rectify his love for you