The Pain
He felt pain as though it was a soul within himself. A long stare into oblivion accompanied his daily routine. Here the pain seemed to embrace him, bear hugging his huge body as though he was a pretzel stick, cajoling his senses to accept history's final chapter. There were rotund visitors, ghostly like a prism in a jail cell, spooking his pain with jibes about his own foolishness. Tears came and went traveling along a long gun barrel. The shots fired always missed him.
Solace visited him during a gaze upon a dew filled leaf. He looked for those moments but that I was the irony. He knew they would come to him but the anxiousness caused him to cast his eyes upon anything that resembled solace. He always failed. Thus he waited.
The pain rose on a early morning sunrise, his soul slightly buckled, he mumbled, "f**k you", as the morning met his eyes. There was a women now, Joanie, the honesty in the timbre of her voice caused a relaxation inside him. He followed her voice like a lost seafarer sinking into each syllable, rocking in the trough of her sea like voice,
trembling in the honesty of conversation, the fear of losing her, change. Home seemed close, so close, he could smell the kettle brewing some delicious vittles. The taste of it caused him to swoon in her arms. Was home near?
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