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
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.
- My Muse-My Shadow - June 15, 2019
- Lit Up Skies - April 4, 2019
- Fair Thee Well - April 3, 2019
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.
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.
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.
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
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.
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