He Turned the Key

He Turned the Key …

He Turned the Key
He Turned the Key

 

He Turned the Key

What did he enter? His world of solitude,

loneliness and depression, a familiar place

where days turn into nights and echoes

of hollowness drip from a rusted faucet.

 

Leftovers slowly rotting in a humming

fridge while arm and hammer fail to

absorb all odors efficiently.

 

Dishes pile in the sink while the ink

dries on the pages left blank with

attempts to encourage its pen holder

to think, think and pull the words

from deep within.

 

He cries awhile, face bowed in hands

shaking violently from the white line

he sniffed begging forgiveness for the

wrongs committed in his solitary life.

Where did it all go? Love died, his soul

empty and begging to die and be let go.

 

Turn it up and let the neighbors scream

and beat upon each other then pour

another glass of cheap wine sit back

and dream of better years gone by

when children played before you

and a house was a home and Santa

was real.

 

The clock is ticking louder these

days and the sand in his hour

glass falls quicker to the bottomless

lost days.

 

Harboring guilt he ages in colors

of grey and black remembering

barely as his memory fades.

No longer a proud man, he bows

and falls to both knees before

his god crying and weeping aloud,

but no one cares he hears just

the gnashing of teeth.

 

© Copyright Vincent Moore. All Rights Reserved

Vincent Moore

Vincent Moore

Vincent Moore pens his thoughts about many things and has a style all his own. Sometimes, he parties with words excessively and it becomes necessary to publish quickly lest his work be lost in the dark corners of his room or his mind. Vincent will lead you into mysterious worlds that are strange yet somehow familiar, worlds that will leave you unsettled and breathless for more.

He was born and raised in Montreal Canada among the Irish, Brits, Italians and French. Point St Charles (commonly called The Point) was the Hell’s kitchen of Montreal. He played, cried, laughed and fought on the street corners, survival was an instinct and watching each others back important. Vincent left home at 17 to find his way in the world, failure and success he had plenty of. He studied the Arts and loved to draw and paint. Took acting lessons and envied those on the stage under the bright lights and hoped to some day become an actor, writer, playwright or painter. Vincent welcomes you to his world of mystery, fantasy and solitude. You can find a few of his writings in one of 3 books he's published.In Absinthia- In Melancholia and In Passionata.
Vincent Moore

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Vincent Moore

Vincent Moore pens his thoughts about many things and has a style all his own. Sometimes, he parties with words excessively and it becomes necessary to publish quickly lest his work be lost in the dark corners of his room or his mind. Vincent will lead you into mysterious worlds that are strange yet somehow familiar, worlds that will leave you unsettled and breathless for more. He was born and raised in Montreal Canada among the Irish, Brits, Italians and French. Point St Charles (commonly called The Point) was the Hell’s kitchen of Montreal. He played, cried, laughed and fought on the street corners, survival was an instinct and watching each others back important. Vincent left home at 17 to find his way in the world, failure and success he had plenty of. He studied the Arts and loved to draw and paint. Took acting lessons and envied those on the stage under the bright lights and hoped to some day become an actor, writer, playwright or painter. Vincent welcomes you to his world of mystery, fantasy and solitude. You can find a few of his writings in one of 3 books he's published. In Absinthia- In Melancholia and In Passionata.

6 thoughts on “He Turned the Key

  • August 14, 2018 at 9:08 PM
    Permalink

    A deeply and painful rendering of a broken life, where hope remains out of reach. We are all so vulnerable and it is the losses in love that are our most profound misery. Because love is our greatest achievement, our pure potential, and when it is lost, we feel so vulnerable and broken. So beautifully rendered in despair and the pain of a broken heart struggling to survive. Kudos.

    Reply
    • August 15, 2018 at 7:54 AM
      Permalink

      Thank you Tony, it poured out of me, my heart was broken many years ago and recovery has been slow. The words came to me easily enough and felt it important to release them for other souls out there I’m certain have felt the sting of lost love.

      Reply
  • August 15, 2018 at 1:22 AM
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    Very emotive and nicely phrased, Vincent. Tony is so right, loss of love is our most profound misery. Yet, I sometimes wonder – if we loved and respected ourselves more, would we be so broken and miserable when we lose the love of another? If we had faith in our self would we be able to heal faster and go on? I felt the pain of the sufferer in your poem and it is not an easy thing to do, to touch your readers like that. Well done, Vincent.

    Reply
    • August 15, 2018 at 7:59 AM
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      Good points you bring up here Phyllis. Respecting and loving ourselves I do believe have a profound affect on how we handle lost love and our brokenness. For myself it took many years to get past the pain of losing my family. It’s only through poetry finding me that helped me release and heal that deepest of sorrows and loss of love. It’s such a painful experience I wish not on any other. Now being true to oneself, finding love in others, helping them gives much peace of mind to me. I forgave the infliction placed upon my soul and have come to terms and peace with this life. Thank you for your keen observation and thoughts on this work Phyllis. Cheers

      Reply
  • August 16, 2018 at 10:30 AM
    Permalink

    So sad my friend. It is funny how the dejected, broken many cry to God at the end. Never asked him for anything before, never even accepted his existence until theirs was called into question, they hope upon hope hes out there somewhere listening. To follow the devils path for so long and hope to be accepted back into his graces, people are bold and shallow. Truth is despite many of the bad things, He is still there waiting for you. Great piece my friend, sorry I went religious on my comment.

    Reply
  • August 16, 2018 at 1:13 PM
    Permalink

    Yes it is sad Paul. And I do agree with you about peoples who choose to have no faith or savior. Yet I would never doubt that even sinners at the last moment or breath they take can find some solace in conversion if they so choose. I am not offended nor apologies needed for your religious take on this piece. True, for those Christians who hold true to their faith find a deep comfort in securing their place in heaven and my respect they have. Some people don’t enter churches or commune with others of the same faith, but walk quietly and converse with God in their own quiet times, possible that of their room or cell. I hope that Edgar Allan Poe found God as his last uttered words were, “God please have mercy on this wretched soul.” I hope God was listening and took him into his fold. Peace my brother, appreciate your review. Cheers

    Reply

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