The Chronicles of a Dying Man

The Chronicles Of A Dying Man From an immaculate birth When the whole world smiled, Midst celebration and mirth And emotions running wild, So, how on earth Was I an unwanted child? I was a perfect baby; Full of love and potential, To my mother, no lady, No more than consequential, Maybe, just maybe, I would prove non-essential. So as a growing boy I tried hard, as expected And learned many a ploy To be accepted But like my old broken toys I was destined to be rejected. As a young man, withdrawn, Suffering a world and its taunting, All the bullying and scorn In my mind, still haunting, And every new dawn Became ever more daunting. And through middle age I strode From mistake to mistake, So many forks in the road But the wrong ones I would take, Where my mind would explode Leaving crisis in its wake. As an aging man I wept For every love lost and regret, For the memories never kept Of the people I had met, Becoming ever more inept And, in my ways, I was set. Now dying, my breath On borrowed skin and bone, Repays what is left Of a life I never owned, To an immaculate death Where I will never be alone. © RJVHorton2015