One stormy night
The outdoors granted me no willful access
The couch looked inviting
And I mourned over an old diary

Skimming line by line the pages turning
My heart was on fire but I didn’t know who wrote this
A hollow empty man
With sparkles falling in his eyes like the end result of a firework show
Or the blowing out of a birthday wish candle
In slow motion wishing for an end nothing more

The only thing familiar about what I was browsing through
Was the handwriting of this boy
The content was poorly written
Full of grammatical error
And misspelling of misused large words

Every entry grew consistently sadder
In its nature as was I becoming (as the reader)
A hollow boy
A hollow life
An end was near for him
As I flipped to the last marked page
And in blood my own john Hancock
MR. Timmy James Wilson

I gasp and glance back
Now I know why my tendency to look forward
And the man I’ve become
Thanking the stars above
This child truly did die
And now I want to live

10/27/2009

Posted on 10/28/2009
Copyright © 2024 Timothy Wilson