He had not been

He had not been my friend, this frail old hack

nor had he been my mentor

or my loyal supporter

when I needed one, yet

there was no one else to see him off,

no one he ever really knew, or shared

his life with, if he had one to share.

In his chest was a heartless lion—

there is nothing sadder in a man—

that shines no light true, just

roars, crazes, drinks despairs

till there is just all hollowness

giving up the ghost,

failing to breathe.

Copyright ©  Peter Twohig. All rights reserved.