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.::oDrew -> RE: Worth His Weight in Words - Freeverse/Lyrics (9/29/2008 14:18:28)
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a life twice LosT
every morning, he woke up at 4:45, just before the dawn.
he owned an alarm clock, but it needed him more than he needed it.
every morning, he rubbed the sleep from his eyes and groped for his slippers.
they were worn and ragged, but he was comfortable with nothing else.
every morning, he slowly made his way down the stairs to the kitchen.
his wife was always there before him, preparing his coffee and bacon.
every morning, he sat ate and his breakfast in silence.
his quiet chewing and swallowing were the only audible sounds.
every morning, he zipped up his uniform and strapped on his boots.
his uniform was blue and faded, his boots were brown and sturdy.
every morning, he grabbed his keys and strode out the door at exactly 5:13.
he performed his entire morning routine without speaking a single word.
every morning, he drove his beat-up pickup truck down the dusty gravel road.
he knew the road and route so well, he could've driven it in his sleep.
every morning, he arrived at work at 5:40, punched his card, and began.
he'd worked at that factory for fourty-nine years, never met a soul.
every morning, he lived his life; he woke, he ate, he worked, he slept.
the day, the week, the month, the year, made no difference to him.
every morning, he was still the same, as the man he was before.
a dead and decomposing corpse changed more often than the man.
and one morning, die he did. he passed away in sleep.
his wife, the only one that knew him,
had nothing to say at his funeral.
how could she?
how could she find the words?
how could she describe his silence?
silence only merits silence.
a fitting obituary for a man whose life was void.
they lowered him into his quiet grave.
every morning, his alarm clock cried out at 4:45, just before the dawn.
its pitiful chirping mourned the man, its master, who had given it purpose.
every morning, his slippers sadly sat, unused, beside his bead.
they knew that they were old and useless, and feared their looming fate.
every morning, his wife still prepared his coffee and bacon.
she didn't mean to, but somehow she couldn't bear to stop.
every morning, his wife sat alone, she couldn't bear to eat.
her quiet weeping and moaning were the only audible sounds.
every morning, his boots and uniform waited expectantly in the closet.
they wondered why it had been so long since they had been to work.
every morning, his keys and door stood ready for their duties.
5:13 would come and pass, and they were once again neglected.
every morning, his beat-up pickup truck longed for the gravel road.
it loved the way its tires would feel as they sped along the turns.
every morning, his time-card sat in its slot, without a punch for once.
it had depended on 5:40, but now that meant nothing more than the time of day.
every morning, he had lived his life; he woke, he ate, he worked, he slept.
the day, the week, the month, the year, made no difference to him now.
but every morning he was not there,
the life that lived him every morning - began to die away.
..::: Conversations Regarding The Preceding Verses :::..
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