He thought the American dream and a woman could build a fence around
His soul, putting distance between him and his pain,
Life's constant barrage of woes,
And the dreams that had fallen like garbage out of the sky...
Dreams that now lay broken and rotting at his feet.
But neither time nor his wife could work that magic.
That alchemy was his and his alone.
But society forgot to teach him that lesson...
Or maybe society never read that book.
So the personal demons he never accepted or
Made peace with, sat in the dark growing arms...
Arms long enough to travel through the space between this world and
The next, legs tall enough to climb over that white picket fence he
Finally erected around his ever shrinking household,
And hands so strong they could chock
Life's bitter darkness right out of him.
I don't know if any of this is true of course...
I'm just someone who writes his poetry on a kind of smart phone...
But I have an inkling that our protagonist only really started
To breathe after he'd danced and tumbled with the grim reaper.
So hopefully...
Before this film ends,
With rays of sunlight sparkling like gold through leaves of trees,
We can remember the feeling of freedom and the liberation of
Forgiveness, and where we stand, sit or lie,
Grasp with our entire being,
Transforming heart and mind, this chance to breathe...
Breath after all is life.