The Dying Man Poem by I.J. Benjamin

The Dying Man



With a bottle in hand
on a park bench, encased by
barbed wire,
not smiling, not frowning,
just sitting.

You think he looks
sad sitting there
alone, by himself, you may feel
an illusion of thought,
an emotion for:

'The dying man' the poster says,
in bright shades of red,
and you think you feel
his pain.

They tell you to walk away,
men in grey suits,
and women in flowery dresses
and children sucking lollipops,
the show is over, they say,
don't stay, they say,
but you stay,

you sit under that shade
you sit there, alone,
because you've learned that to
be alone is not the worst thing
of all.

and time passes and goes,
people pass by,
they watch the dying man
and you,
and you now know,
what you've known before,
that there is no choice, and it's
just a show, it's just a ride,
it's just you and him,
looking at the dead looking
in

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