Friend
The sweeper was there in the club that day,
But I was too busy and could not stay,
He donated his time and gave us a smile,
Until he dropped one day while jogging a mile.
The red-nosed gentleman always said “Hi”,
Eager to hear how my day had gone by,
Regardless of what went on in his life,
I heard of his death by his gracious wife.
We drove down the road and bumped into the guy,
Who had suddenly stopped in order to die,
Despite nearby doctors going hard to work,
Just goes to show, death always lurks.
My Grandfather always seemed grumpy & mean,
Until one afternoon he coughed up his spleen,
He was strong willed and always merry with beer,
My last words to him had made my feelings quite clear.
The dust barely settles as he falls on foreign soil,
A journalist captures the moment blood spoils,
The uniformed father with his kids playing at home,
Who learn of his death when online they roam.
I sit in my bunker and peer through my eyes,
Hiding from this world and my untimely demise,
Calmly putting everything to the test,
Running from the night where I never rest.
My existence resides in a corridor of time,
Caring for lives who are not mine,
Rolling messages and pages of words,
Content with my ending, if I am never heard.
(C) 2015 PJ Bayliss
Copyright © Pj Bayliss | Year Posted 2016
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