Mourning Dream Poem by David Nelson Bradsher

With spite,5: 30 in the morning came,
alarmed, and jarring to his drowsy senses,
bringing to bear the morning-force of blame
that punched and powered through internal fences
into the freedom of impassioned voices,
a tit-for-tat crescendo, borne of rage,
confusion, and regret (from faulty choices) ,
and panic from a man who knew his age—

and knew, too well, that he had lagged behind
the social norm of seeking out a wife
to mitigate the failure of a mind
too weary of the vagaries of life,
and too resentful to deny his own
prophetic dream that he would die alone.