Not often did he wish for things,
He had few petty desires.
“What’ll come will come,” he’d say, with a knowing nod.
And he was sad that way. He would smirk.
Most called him an accomplished man
Who he left the past behind.
His monsters were gone, his sanity pitched in
Defeated at last, his thoughts were gone
Not many were considered truly content those days,
But this man, they said, he’d made it with all he had done wrong,
But how long?
He’d sit by the fire with a cigarette.
He’d read stories to himself, he would read himself to sleep.
But his heart longed for little more, just one final request
Not for himself, but for the woman he loves.
She was impossible to hold a grudge to,
A blessing to the painful diary
Though insecurity engulfed her
Self-esteem was unheard of
Seeing herself through devils’ eyes,
Fixed at her own reflection, but
If the man wanted one last thing,
It would be a day of life, for him to be fixed as well
Plain and simple!
She’d see the way she curled her conversation
Behind one talk when she trembled.
A golden noise, full of excitement,
He wished she knew
That it put everything wrong and she met someone !
Treasure was lost, the man was poor again !
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