PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Small stabilised steps towards the reprieve of bed. 

With back bent, he worships rest.

This hostel is beyond his years

and he is beyond his best. 

Life has left him wanting

And damned he would be 

If he would be damned 

To the comfort of home 

He had been built upon. 

So he has flown from his deathbed 

Driven by his maddened mind. 

He wishes to be smothered by concerns of loved

and yanked from his last resort. 

Yet his only comforts are the half-enclosing woolen slippers

and the laptop that rests on his lap.

His only wish is to see beauty 

In his painful excursion. 

Yet he may not climb the Acropolis slopes

Or drink the night away with lonely friends,

He may only hobble upon the paved paths 

And live in others

As a passing glance. 

For as beautiful as life is,

It is for the young; 

Either heart or mind.

He is neither. 

And as a dog in their final, 

He has fled to die.

Not by his own hand,

But he prays that this foreign world

Will show more mercy than his own,

And whisk away the blood in his heart

And the breath in his lungs.