THE DAY TOO LATE

 

Image via Dezinerfolio

 

the old man sat hunched on his stool
wrinkled, frail, alone
watching the millipede scurry over his boot
a dirt floor garage filled with stagnant smells of oil and mice
recalling his misery

the thought consumed him
each day was an effort to achieve
at all costs the precious expanse of wealth
at all costs lived to it’s name
as his children and wife left him to his fortune
through ignorance he pressed on as his appetite for more increased
and in return as he gained he lost it all

his children left early finding an easy excuse
self support in school was easier than his blatant disregard
no wealth could replace the lack of love he displayed
it was not until the children had left that she did as well
she knew of his mistress but held on for years
for the children she would tell herself
the door opened for her and freedom is what she gained

years on the yacht with the people who brought him greatness
with all but a walk on the golf course as exercise brought him here
over indulgence to the extreme from cigars to alcohol to steak
his third bypass still didn’t change his habits
after all, three might as well have been twenty at this point
but three hundred was all his mistress could take
she found an exit over the water and into his soul never spoke of again

it all had started with the neighbor
flaunting their jet skis, speed boats, new cars, and a big house
his insatiable appetite for the material sent him on the quest
with eroded teeth from the grinding he bit his finger nails clean
lying in bed restless, sleepless, plotting
he would some day have it all, but until then his stomach would turn
a track of scars on his arm from the incessant scratching that would mean to quell his desire

what an amazing feeling that finally took control of him
opening doors he would have never dreamed of opening
it lead to his secret double life in the twilight
he was superior to them ‘those of less’ as he called them
they were here to serve him now as his money equated power
how dare they question his stature
he did not need them, they needed him

the toes he stepped on as he climbed
the feeling of pushing somebody off a cliff
something that he had actually done at least once
he couldn’t remember names and had lost track of the the number
when they turned on him or discovered his acts there was only one answer
and he carried out the punishment as it pleased him
entertainment to quench his thirst

success, an enabler he did not have to do anything
family gone they could not stand what he had become
he sat, alone, sedentary
bathing was merely a passing thought
the stench of his foulness lingered in the darkness
his friends now were the ones who fed off his waste
and his enemies would not visit because they needn’t

then on the day too late he arose and found his way to the garage
a remnant of his past that never received adornment
a dank, dark, dirt floored cavern
no longer obese, now a frail old man he sat
he sat and pondered the reality of his impending end
and alone his heart and all of the sustaining repairs
…………………………………………………………………………………….broke

* submitted to Jingle Poetry Potluck Monday(seven deadly sins) on 10/18/2010
* submitted to Undead Poets Society on 10/18/2010

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About 700miles

I am a quiet guy who writes poetry to express my deeper emotions. Only you and one other person know that I do this…
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