He sat behind a desk
listening to voices, piping up a few times, remaining silent most.
Future plans, current problems; his own at home.
Did he make the right decision?
Are the thoughts in his brain to be put on hold for the sake of others?
The voices he kept in the vault prodded the lock with a pin
every time his thoughts strayed away from his duties.
Saturdays were his days;
he knew where to go.
Downhill, through the briars and weeds he trekked until
he came upon this old familiar ground where he had been so many times before.
Leaves crackling, twigs snapping,
the clearing by the ruins of a house built a hundred years ago sit solemn and alone.
Alone is the way he felt sometimes.
Even though his life was to make other people’s lives better,
his was still lacking.
His children he never had would have babies now,
the dreams that he gave up on, he looked up and saw them falling from the trees.
He had had a long life with a lot of hard times.
He leaned against the old stone well, head empty.
The oak tree to his left shivered like his barren soul from the breeze to the north.
The quivering leaves confused him;
leaves, so fragile now, begin so green.
The leaves aren’t afraid to fall,
was he afraid to fall?
He felt his insides were brown and cracked,
like the twigs under his boots.
Through his days he learned that cracked can be beautiful,
after all, every diamond has it’s flaw.
People came into his office hating their cracks,
sometimes even he hated their cracks.
But, they are beautiful.
All of them were beautiful.
A tear behind a smirk.
A streak of mud on a newly paved road.
A coal fire filling the clear sky with thick, black tar smoke.
As the time passed his head grew weary.
He looked to the west to see the sun hanging low,
he hung his head low.
One step towards the old stone well,
looking down there and you’d think it would go on forever.
Drop a stone and hear nothing but a faint echo escaping…
The bottom was calling him.
Sally was calling him.
Fall backward and spring ahead, they say.