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The Person Who Used to Be |
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What a shame no one will ever again see
That singular
person who used to be:
The one who loved, and laughed,
and vied...
For while still living, he turned away, and
died.
It was he who once could inspire with a word,
But that strong voice will never again be heard,
Even
though he has not yet ceased to speak;
His words are now
unfocused and bleak.
His potential gone to waste, but
shunning pity,
He wanders alone through the streets of
the city
Or languishes away in a dreary psychic cell,
Reliving the memories of his own private hell.
What
happened, you wonder, to cause such a change?
What was
the trauma that managed to derange
All that was wonderful
in this precious life,
And fill it instead with heartache
and strife?
The recurring nightmares of shadowed
jungle paths,
Gravid with the imminence of sudden blood
baths,
And the cry of the friend, who voiced his last
sound
As, calling, he spun and fell, lifeless, to the
ground.
There was no refuge; even when �safe' in the
rear,
He knew that he must go back into the fear,
To
the rage, death, and sorrow that would not abate
Until he
reached that longed-for date:
The shimmering DEROS,
the day he was free,
To return to the person he could no
longer be,
To battle strange ailments, disillusion, and
sighs,
Until, still living, he turned away... and died. |
By Thurman P. Woodfork
Copyright 2003
Listed
March 14, 2011 |
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