Denis Bruce Poet Free verse

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.

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