The Desolation of Death

Stripped of the one Whose existence gave his life Its energy, shape and motivation There he sat with curtains drawn The flickering screen his sole companion Trying to blot out The monotonous thrum of mourning Murmuring in his mind Painful and prolonged. The pharmacy. He had to go to the local pharmacy Heaving himself heavily from his chair And hauling on his white coat Now seeming more like a spectral shroud He took his stick before opening the door When the sunlight struck his eyes. Haltingly and woodenly walking Knowing in his heart That he was going through the motions Like a well rehearsed but tired actor Reciting his oft repeated lines And obeying the stage directions There in the pharmacy To receive his medication For his physical pain With nothing for his inner emptiness Of soul. Back he hobbled home Dreading the closing of his door.