The Man
He opens up the door to a dark and lonely home,
He looks around the room in an empty kind of tone.
The rooms begin to fill as he flicks the light switch on,
Happy to be home again, he hums a mellow song.
He shakes the rain off mostly as he’s taking off his hat,
His shoes will block the doorway if he leaves them there like that.
His socks are kind of soggy so he kicks them to the floor,
And barefoot turns around again to close and lock the door.
He fuels up the fireplace and embers start to glow,
He sits and flicks the TV on to watch his favourite show.
The shadows from the trees outside dance to catch his eye,
Though not enough to be noticed by the quiet man inside.
The mans eyes open very wide, he stands to stretch and yawn.
He needs to go to sleep because he has to wake at dawn.
He’s a talented musician but he hasn’t played in days.
He climbs the staircase locked in the pianos silent gaze.
His mirror says it’s time to sleep, a yawn is his reply.
The toothbrush buzzes sleepily, the shower gives a sigh.
He slowly crawls beneath the flannel covers on his bed,
And tries to say goodnight to all the demons in his head.
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