Mr. Misery

He uttered his last words.

 

Wrote the last note to everyone

and no one and mostly,

to himself.

 

The last thing he smelled

were daffodils.

 

The last thing he read with

nostalgic fondness were

postcards he sent back home

that he'd co-written with his friends

on one warm May afternoon

ten years ago so he would

never forget how good it felt to be

a young twenty-something with

sleepy eyes and a philosopher's heart thinking

either and or are the same because

we may be mortal but

happiness is forever and when we're gone,

it will propel itself like energy

down the highest mountain and

harvest someone else with the force

it harvested him,

with the force that

made him

forget.

This is the last of his dreams.

The last of the memories the twenty-something

had, the last of the hope that, maybe,

happiness chooses to harvest the same victim

twice.

 

Years after, his house remained littered

with old feelings stuck in the

cracks of the hardwood floor,

laying quietly forgotten between

yesterday and tomorrow.

Finished and unfinished lyrics,

Scripts, pictures, scraps, neon green

papers reminding to buy milk and

it was then that I knew there was

 

a second side to this pervasive

Mr. Misery they opined him to be,

still smiling wide every time the sunset

lines heavy grey clouds orange,

even though he’s never around to see

it anymore, humming the rhythm of the

trees swaying under the might of the warm summer

breeze, though he’s no longer around

to hear it, a side whose heart burned

a brighter hue than his tears ever could’ve,

living each day anew through every

kaleidoscope hope that

found its beam of light.

 

At times, when hot August sunrises

trample me with weary sleep, I see him

dreaming with his eyes open by the

window, whispering a soft, airy secret of how he’s found

something to write songs about

at long last.

Reviews

[Simon Welsh]

I feel a kinship with this. Fan of Elliott Smith?

[Little Birdie]

Oh, very much so. His music managed to pull me through an insane part of my life fairly unharmed.

[Simon Welsh]

Me too. Heatmiser are pretty cool too.

[Little Birdie]

That's true. A lot of people who worked with him made pretty quality music.

[Alana McGuire]

I would really love to hear this performed as spoken word. I read it as such in my head, and it sounded wonderful.

[Mark]

an interesting poem. Leaves me wanting to meet this man.

[SyberRose]

I enjoyed your poem and I liked the line about happiness havesting the same victim twice...enjoyed from beginning to end...a touching piece...SyberRose

[Little Birdie]

Thank you, I'm so glad you've enjoyed it.

[New Dawn]

Beautiful imagery in this - loved the postcards home and the reminders to buy milk and the every day feel of the piece. I could imagine the clutter of old feelings falling between the cracks. Poignant and intriguing work x

[Little Birdie]

Awwwh thank you!

[Thomas Fitzgerald]

A most realatabile piece that one finds hard to read at first but plunges forward, well done, good read.

[Little Birdie]

Thank yooou! It's certainly a lengthy one, but I worked hard at it :)