End Game
He hadn't wanted it, to end like this,
Shuffling, dragging one foot,
Elbow pressed to his waist
Holding up his rumpled trousers.
Whimpering with each painful step.
Not too long ago
He was the man he thought he was
A son’s hero.
Strength of his loving wife.
Now discarded,
Unable to carry his burden,
As flotsam upon the sea of man.
He thought of Combat fire fights,
Gallantly dying for ideals of State.
Enmeshed in battles with comrades.
Hero’s all ___ ,
but not this.
Scorned by the new youth as he once was.
Ignored by the fluttering lashes of young girls bright black eyes.
Drag stop,
step,
wince,
drag.
Pulling his upturned collar closer to his throat.
Windblown strands of hair in his eyes.
Praying for that long warm sleep of forever.
Drag stop,
Step,
Wince,
Drag.
Copyright © Donald Goodside | Year Posted 2013
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