End Game Poem by Toby Twigg
End Game
He hadn't wanted it to end like this
Shuffling, dragging one foot
Elbow pressed to his waist
Holding up his rumpled trousers
Whimpering with each painful step
Not too long ago
He was the man he thought he was
A Son's hero
Strength of his loving wife
Now discarded
Unable to carry his burden
As flotsam upon the sea of man
He thought of 'Combat fire fights
Gallantly dying for ideals of State
Enmeshed in battles with comrades
Hero's all ___
but not this
Scorned by the new youth as he once was
Ignored by the fluttering lashes
Of young girls bright black eyes
Drag stop
Step
Wince
Drag
Pulling the upturned collar closer to his throat
Windblown strands of hair in his eyes
Praying for that long sleep of forever
Drag stop
Step
Wince
Drag...
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/23/2024 1:21:35 PM # 1.0.0.1119
Poignant, not least because is the constant mindset of many folks out there. I'm only 59 but I can relate because I'm also dragging my feet in a literal sense after to having gotten Gillain-Barre Syndrome two years ago. But that also marked the point when I started writing. I wish I could tell those folks: 'free your mind instead', that's the ticket. It did the trick for me. I do wince but never whimper.