The judge of a sentence.
Forced repentance.
The out line of your character.
Drawn to life scale.
To peal your self from reality.
The rain, sleet, it's hail.
Formed, shapes of mass. Calculated, measured cast.
Your vessel, theatric. The story vast.
Though pages drag on through curious journeys.
Wrinkled and soaked. the book torn.
Lifes travels, narrative lost, thrown away.
The book pleading and begging, screaming.
Tossed from the highest cliff.
Into the deepest river.
It sits now bound and written.
On a rock it waits.
A cellphone, messages from another generation.
Walkie-talkies spoken to, messages received.
The book found years later a man cannot believe.
Though, the pages are empty, ink wiped away.
At the back of the book a picture of whom.
Transition, transition.
A man dies to save his loved ones.
A son gone mad, a mother committed suicide.
A daughter home, raising a boy of three alone.
A fathers wishes turned to hell.
his death for nothing. A boy now 24.
His sister, cancer took.
This boy lives on.
His father an author.
The last book missing, gone.
Alone he finds the satisfaction.
Alone he finds his drive.
Alone he does it all.
Yellow, sands of time wave through the air.
The stars of night blind me as I stare.
Too late to read, closing the book to say.
"I think this is all I can handle for the day".
Walking home I listen to the grass whistle and the wind sing.
I pay close attention to nothing and enjoy my being.
Cold air sweeps the sweat from my pores.
A delightful chill cruses through my veins.
A smile glistens as I close my eyes.
Footsteps my own, rocks beneath my souls.
A slight trip, my eyes open and towards home.
The house, two stories. White as snow.
One light on, the kitchen glows.
My hand reaches for the door, the smell caressing my neck.
The Fire lunging at me, the smoke fills my lungs.
I awake on the floor dieing, crawling.
My eyes blood shot, body in shock.
Smoke creeping under the door.
My fate sealed, I cannot move.
I close my eyes and look at the stars.
I breathe deep to end my suffering.
Tar, build up in my lungs.
The heat wrapping itself around me.
Suffocating, I pass out as if thrown into space.
The building burns to the floor.
The place 'non'-existent.
Hugging my only pillow I weep. It rains, I've no home. Cold, my face wet. City, as forgiving as god yet as terrifying as death.
No home, no eyes, no body. Rest.
