A Means To An End.

I see him through the sharp blades

The green of the grass succumbs to his shade

Shimmering in the rain he’s dancing for His Day

Whispering silent prayers, asking Mother to marry his heartache with gain.

I rest upon an oak tree, not far from where he stands

And watch his movements

Face down, head in his hands.

The breeze holds him up

And whilst he stands, he introduces his silent cry

To a future plan.

A plan now gone awry.

A force of nature falling to his knees

Fist clenched, resisting, compelling to his suffering.

He looks for answers in places

Where questions are not welcome.

Busying himself with pursuing what’s already been taken

All that he knew, everything that was his.

He’s giving up hope, losing his patience

He looks up at the sun and he’s jealous

It can disappear into The Darkness.

His blood is boiling, eyes lose It’s Shine

You won’t leave his mind.

He paints you with rough strokes

Angry that you’ve left him alone.

Paints you with colours you’ve never heard before.

Scratches your cheekbones into a piece of wood.

He relieves his final image of you

Pale skin, brown eyes, curls in your hair looks like a soft tide

You were wearing a blue and white gown you learnt to despise.

You were clutching on to the necklace he bought you,

On the 2nd Sunday of May,

The Day they all cried.

Fearful of becoming weak for Your Demise

He paints a smile on Your Face

For he couldn’t place one before you passed.

And now you’re the past,

And memories of you are passing him by.

His pain is now posing as a Desire To Be Great.

He won’t let his pain get in the way

Of making sure you’re proud of him. One day.

He places perfection on a canvas

On his mantelpiece

So he can be graced,


With A Memory.

A Means To An End.

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