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Monday, 11 September 2017


Absent minded, Alone with his thoughts.
Alone with his flaws and his faults.
Psychologically overlooked, no links between him and what the teachers taught.
With all his strength, With all his might, he fought.

His energy is distinct but silent.
His synergy with others is weak, perhaps it gives his personality a dent.
But it's no fault of his... he's misunderstood at every turn, perhaps he has a repulsive scent.
Perhaps he was born ineffectual and powerless, a reverse Clark Kent.
Buried are his talents... Unviable seeds, maybe they'll never germinate.
Buried are his thoughts and knowledge, from the outside he seems like a tabula raza... a clean slate.
Buried would be his existence as he floats through time till he becomes infinity... a horizontal eight.
Buried in his own darkness, with only a few reaching out...he's shrouded in secrecy and fear, and it shows in his gait.
Maybe it's too late for him.
For soon the songs of David would be sung for him, a solemn psalm or a hymn.
For soon the curtains would be drawn and the lights would dim.
He was unusual...he buzzed with awkward potentials, yet his end seems grim.
What is dead shall never die.
But he does it twice... one death, then another... perhaps after his deaths his name would then rise.
For his importance would never be acknowledged till he crosses the divide.
When he goes they might begin to feel his vibe.
As he swung side to side ... his neck strangled by the grip of his bedspread.
As his friends and family found him dead.
His life reflects what was... and his death reflects what could have been, so much potential hanging on a thread.
Tears obeyed the laws of gravity and eyes went red.
So tell me what the tears are worth.
Tell me how it affects throwing in the towel and playing the last card... whot?
Tell me if it reincarnates, maybe it would have brought back the wife of Lot.
Tasteless like water, tasteful like the salt of the sea... He's buried and now he rots.

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