then he laid down

he tried, but

there’s an end to every game,

and while days seem the same,

from inside, there is one

that’s not

like other days

 

he lacked, and

knew he’d always ever lack,

he didn’t have the knack,

for inside, he found one

who was

turned side-aways

 

for help, he couldn’t reach;

for friends, he couldn’t call —

 

then he laid down,

he laid down on the bareness of his bed,

and through the aching in his head, he heard

a violin

who understood

it all


Author: Beleaguered Servant

Owen "Beleaguered" Servant (a/k/a Sibelius Russell) writes poetry mostly, with an occasional pause to have a seizure.

One thought on “then he laid down”

  1. A real picture just being forged right in front of my eyes… Beautifully expressed.

    I can relate when you say-

    “for help, he couldn’t reach;

    for friends, he couldn’t call —

    Liked by 1 person

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