A study, of words, in crimson, sometimes blue, rarely yellow.

His Final Truth

400248162_1246d9ae23It is in the  dead of night
That I hear his call
A silent plea for help
A cry for freedom

It’s not the man you see
But a child behind the madness
Who seeks freedom from the bounds
Of the past-indifferent

The light in his eyes
Continues to dim
The words from his lips
Uttered in a mere whisper

Forsaken by life
Abandoned by hope
He looks up to the Heavens
For the final sign

& in the darkness, he sees
Her face, hears her voice
& for the last time
He whispers

“Leave me be.
I was nothing to you.
Let my final truth be
That you are nothing to me.”


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