This was a man,
Now undone.
This was an old man,
Stripped to the bone.
This man had a family.
A woman who loved him.
Children who grew up,
Into their own lives.
Grandchildren who,
Don’t even know his name.
The dimples in his smile,
Are now the wrinkles over his chin.
His morning coffee,
Is now the Jack that sits in the cupboard.
Because his wife has passed,
And his children as well.
There’s nothing left,
But for this man to dwell.
The sleep never comes,
Because his eyes never close.
So tonight he has decided,
It’s his skull he’ll expose.
He’s trying to catch his breath,
He’s swallowing the upstream.
He’s trying to keep straight aim,
He’s trying to hear the music.
Beethoven.
Just one last time.
Pathetique.
Suits this man well.
The symphony plays,
While the situation delays.
No longer confined in his cell.
Seventy some odd years it’s been,
It’s a rough life that you've endured.
Relax and just enjoy the music,
There's still time to change your mind.
“I’ve had enough of taking others’ advice.
I’m done with trying to endure.
Tonight they will be forced to clean,
My scattered brains up off the floor.”
His thoughts are now depicted,
They were never in strict order.
Disarrayed and disorganized,
In a pillaged, bloody mess.
Richard Steinmueller
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/an-old-man-undone/
