Mr. Doll
When I was young..
Mr. Walter Doll, and his wife,
An elderly couple,
Loaned my parents money,
To purchase our home...
He was a mild mannered man,
Quiet and thoughtful,
Always working his garden,
Always a smile...
One day I heard..
He had hung himself in his basement,
I was sitting on my stoop
with my girlfriend in 1966,
When my parents told me this news...
I never understood..
How a man of means,
Who loved his flowers,
Who loved his vegetables,
Did not love his own life,
It disturbed me all my life...
A life that has seen tragedy,
Murder, up close...
And been in countless
Life threatening situations...
Fighting for my own life...
Loved ones dying in my arms,
After I cared for them for years,
How I soaked my pillow,
With a million tears...
But, why Mr. Doll?
He should mean little to me...
And that's just the point...
He meant little to anyone...
But all these years later,
I oft think of him
I don't know why...
He was not my kin...
Just a forgotten old man,
Discouraged by pain...
He had enough one day...
And used his rafters to end same...
And one day in college,
In a Roman Law class..
I looked out the window...
To see an old woman
Breathe her last...
As she jumped out of the window,
Upon spiked iron fence...
I still live with this vision...
Of how age takes offense...
There's a limit to pain,
That one can endure...
I haven't reached that point,
But one can never be sure...
Life has its twists,
It's turns, and it's for sure,
One will pass one day ahead,
And go through that door...
The mysteries ahead...
Wonderous and unable to grasp now,
Will be each one's destination
Of this I can vow
Copyright © Tom Bell | Year Posted 2007
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