The Man Who Makes Collage Poem by Barney Rooney

Sat there on an after the night before wall
a too low you'd think to contemplate a fall wall
head in hands re-running the looped moment
when the heart big as an ox let the head have its day
the tongue loosed to have its way
said a thing he knew he'd never say

plead as much as you like - this is not who I am -
alas, some words can't be taken back
once they open the sluice that holds the dam of guilt
but guilt never served the soul as penance
nor kept the mind from fracturing into disarray
in the dark days when hope and people fall away

family, friends and Windsor House caught him
healing days rebuilt the present from the mine
of years of fragments garnered from the lives
he shared now clipped, snipped, combined
the essence of these people, this place, these times
his journey and theirs synthesised
in paper pasted homage
by the man who makes collage