A Kind Of Death.

He cried at her cruelty;
her duplicity; her failure
to treat reality with honesty,
but the tears, waves of them
were not crystal pure.

They were dangerous, were charged
with currents of hurt; deep distress;
rushing like raging torrents
flooding reason, drowning will
to rise above the deluge.

The gait that used to happily swing
in joyous rhythms of life became
a shamble of shuffles descending
into deep chasms of bitterness:
now his alter ego.

Thirty years struggled to pass;
the constant pain, the aching thirst
for vengeance never passed; disdain
for love had soured a spirit now
in a kind of death

Poor fellow! What can be done?
What can friends do for him?
What can life do for him?
What can he do for life?
Can he live again?

Pity! Only he can rise
from his grave of deathly sadness
to cull the weeds of bitterness,
to forgive and then to live again
with hope, happiness, renewal.

?Patrick Talty 2003