In the emptiness of it all

A string quartet plays melodies

Similar to the ones that of my grandfather hummed me to sleep

 

I break open

Pour the coffee, skip the milk, add the sugar

Silently sipping, now lukewarm after a few minutes wait

 

It was raining on that December day

I was brought by ambulance to the hospital

Given injections in my legs

Still, I lay

Still, I have become

 

No fear, or regrets

No embarrassments, no chartered waters

Like I said, no reasons, no more

 

I stand tall

With my fleshy weapon strong at my side

My eyes focused on the target

Rage in my heart — no sympathy

 

In my shade I cannot hide

In the sun, I will fade, and surely die

With no more options

No more running, making, inhaling

 

Without freedom

Without eight hours fight

Without her love

 

Only a small instance

Of left over scraps

Of left over disease

I beg you to forgive me

For what I am about to achieve

 

My achievement,

Museum quality

 

 

© 2009 David Greg Harth

09.08.12.21:08:31@130BklynNYC