To Live a Life

There was a time I often wondered

what it meant to live a life in black.

Alas, as for the likes of men,

the clocks do no turning back.

Now every day new horrors dawn,

my head is crowned by shame.

Hands gloved with dirty money,

and shoulders wreathed in blame.

Desperation can be a fine excuse

for those with family ties,

but in my attempts to justify

I speak naught but serpent’s lies.

The small black book, it came to me,

but not like stories say;

no ominous clap of thunder,

no dark’ning of the day.

In fact I thought quite the opposite,

my fortunes had reversed!

but the machinations of my mind

did not play out as I’d rehearsed.

I happened across it in the park,

perched lonely on a bench.

As if the owner had but strolled away,

a sudden thirst to quench.

And so I sat by, patiently,

awaiting their return,

but, of course, no one came,

and my palms began to burn.

Oh! If only then I could see

of what Fate had kept guarded,

I would have quickly strode away,

and from this Hell departed.

Unturned cards show not their faces,

unopened books the same -

but when I turned the cover back,

It reached out to me by name.

“We are bound now, you and I,”

Its pages quickly scrawled,

“a partnership befitting,

the world and all involved.”

A shiver took me, quickly there,

while I sat staring at the pages,

but soon enough, I settled back,

my thoughts safe inside Its cages.

“A service now, we both provide,

and one from ages past,

your path may stretch before you,

but the die have all been cast.

Fear not, as for your sacrifice,

you will be richly rewarded,

and yet, despite what men desire,

we maintain the pantheon unthwarted.”

Dear reader now, I do not doubt,

for some time it has been clear,

but as for me, my faculties

were battened down in fear.

As It meted out our “partnership,”

and spelled it out for me,

It summarized so deftly -

of my life that was to be.

In urban cities, New York men,

in Savannah’s rural hollers,

throughout the world, we take them all -

for Twenty Thousand Dollars.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Of little consequence though it is,

I tried my best to run.

But It had not, could not, lie, in fact -

for we were bound as one.

Ten years now, of servitude,

paired in this cruel alliance,

ashamed though to admit it,

the sun sets on my defiance.

Melancholy, gloom, and desperation,

a diet fit for none,

is all I have for sustenance;

the book, I know, has won.

I ready now my preparation,

of what I do tonight,

I bid you join me just this once,

to live the life of wight.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

I thank you for your kindness,

in listening to my story,

and again, for your accompaniment,

in pursuit of sordid quarry.

Small fortunes are, in such a life,

where there is no salvation,

all that one can hope for,

(apart from obliviation).

It is such, we see him now,

a man whose life has aged;

no curtain falling premature,

no acting been upstaged.

Fortunate, as we approach,

he does not quake in fright;

rather, with kind sad eyes he says,

“I forgive you for this night -

please allow me some few words,

before I carry on,

perhaps across the river Styx,

or some great Elysium.

I know the weight you carry now;

I know the book in hand.

I know the turning of Its screw;

I know of Its demand.

You sought me once, ten years ago,

and in a park we stood.

I told myself the story,

that it was for the greater good.

It was a lie, both then and now,

and one I hope you can forgive.

For there are things far better,

than continuing on to live.

We met that day, my role now yours,

and my agenda set.

It was to be our meeting,

and I the last you ever met.

I told myself a kindness,

is what I offered you.

A lie, we know, so clearly,

was never close to true.

So now, I ask, I beg of thee,”

as tears streamed down his face,

“forgive my ten-year folly;

forgive my deep disgrace.”

I but stood a moment.

My thoughts, only fraught.

“What you ask is, fair,” I said,

“though forgive you, I cannot.

Ten years ago, you stole from me,

the poisoning of my mind -

a life I wanted ended,

one I planned to leave behind.

Make no mistake, this is far worse,

each day a painful breath,

but what you chose to steal from me,

was instead a loan from Death.

A young man discouraged,

his pain, acute, it’s true.

But more painful I’ve come to realize,

is the pain you hold in you.”

I realized then, in cruel chagrin,

briefly lost in thought,

“It was my life you offered me,

my suffering you bought.

And now you ask forgiveness for,

a price you yourself have paid,

a purchase you thought frivolous,

but now shows itself as staid.

You showed me what I could not see,

you trumpeted to my ear;

your actions pealed the bells -

and I could not help but hear.

You took a man embroiled,

a man locked inside his pain,

a man who lost compassion,

and made him feel again.

I forgive you, father, brother.

I forgive you, teacher, friend.

I forgive you, sister, mother.

Let us this rift mend.”

I took his hand in mine,

white skin burning hot,

and ushered him into the night,

his failures now forgot.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

It was in that moment then,

unsure of mine own words,

there was a simple fluttering,

as if in song-flight birds.

There was a lightness in my hand,

as It began to ash.

Yet that was little, nothing, even;

My Heart - it beat at last.