D. O. A.

 

     A narcissi they call him,

They cannot see the neglected

Offering of youth,

More is to the point,

(it doesn’t serve their ego)!

     He never knew -

His father,

His mother;

He once begged her to write

To him, write all she knew

About the world that rejected,

Alas,

     She didn’t care,

     Didn’t care at all!

 

      He watched the lights flash by,

Felt the metal on his tongue

As his head lay cold against the concrete

And,

     What fitting way it would have been,

(For a warrior),

If he had not devised

The sanctuary for birds

And animals,

     A world of greens and browns,

A world of trees and meadows

Where beings were never accused

Of trespass,

     What sanctuary he sought,

     What sanctuary beckoned his design?

 

D. O. A.

 

A being,

      Living, feeling,

Seeing, seeking,

Crying, hiding,

Dying,

     Dying in the city

Where tombs speak the same

To everyone,

     Where anyone

With zeal and zest for life;

Becomes………….

…………………nothing!

 

Michael J Waite 9th January 2016