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Poem

surely this had to be the moment of truth

he hit the closed door with a huge bang
headache clangour irresistible pain
he had not even been moving at great speed

but both coat of paint and skin
rubbed off each other
when slow motion came to a halt
grazed and bruised his forehead swelled
as if to poignantly point to
this moment of growth

apathy had formed a coalition
with a mindless body
sheltering his soul with arrest
and yet something had shaken
his timely corrosion at last

a few flakes of rust mixed with blood
both of similar colour and disdain for his slip
somehow called for sanguine composure
for if he could bleed he was not dead yet
scabs would form and try to heal scars

his feet and roots became moist 
overcome with tears that finally flowed

while he considered to drown
in increased sorrow defeat 
and ultimate capitulation
he could not hide his surprise
when he oozed through the gap
between doorframe and threshold
opened the aperture behind him
and switched on the candle
that had been patiently waiting
for such split second of verity

just a flicker
merely a cierge
but now he was able to smell
the waning and waxing
scent of freedom
he longed for so much

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