Bill Smith

Rookie (4-3-55)

Aaa1 By His Own Hand - Poem by Bill Smith

By his own hand the poet dies
Buried beneath a hail of goodbyes
In a green sea of jealousy fighting the tide
Exposed near naked no place to hide
Heart on his sleeve no hope of understanding
From the highest of highs to another crash landing
Midst jigsaw words where the pieces don’t fit
Wanting it all and losing a bit
more of the pride held in clenched teeth
Hating inside what lies beneath
Safety behind a smile, a song
Taking what’s right, making it wrong
Twisting and turning his guts tied in knots
Another bouquet of dead forget me nots
Sweeping the ashes neat to a pile
Of another excursion short of a mile
Sat on the throne, King of self distruction
Read the manual but not the instructions
Glossed over pages of how to behave
Doomed to be restless till’ reaching the grave
Kiss stained lips that glow in the dark
Her shadow rests on his beating heart
The touch of her hand, the smile on her face
The curve of her lips that time won’t replace
History bent to a rainbow of grey
Memories stored that won’t go away
Empty the feeling, soul torn apart
Dead at the end, dead at the start
Guilty as always, no defence
Can’t even claim it’s his first offence
The jury’s back in, black cap for the judge
The gallery whispers, bystanders nudge nudge
He lies by the door feels feet brush his back
A feeling well known just an old door mat
That well known ache boils inside
By his very own hand, the poet dies
Never mention the word, never mention the war
He’s the poet in the shadows you never saw.

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Poem Submitted: Tuesday, April 1, 2008

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