The Man in Black
The first time I met the man in black,
I was in a line, awaiting my turn,
When the woman in front moved aside,
I dropped a flower into a pit,
And watched it fall into the darkest spot lit,
A pair of shaky hands held me in place,
To spend a silent minute before we moved away,
Not before glancing back,
To wave bye bye to the man in black.
The next time I met the man in black,
Was behind the neighbor's door lock,
Who was among the adults,
Sitting beside a couple with tissues and red, swollen eyes,
I was ushered into a room filled with young, familiar smiles,
Spending the time exchanging jokes and laughs,
Our door was open but I felt the
Block separating us over the adults' side.
Over the years, I met the man in black,
But always from afar and through a screen,
Who stood beside portraits of others,
Or besides a body that's far too white.
The next time I met the man in black,
Became a day filled with much resentment and anger, my heart cracked,
I was up in a balloon and tied to you with string colored red,
As we marveled upon what lied ahead,
When the man in black popped our balloon,
And we crashed to the ground with a boom,
Then the man in black stabs you, an inch too deep,
Before you were pulled away from me.
So, I stayed away from the man in black,
Time had me growing weary as the rage trickled away,
Then came the last time, I met the man in black,
When I closed my eyes,
A face that kept its youth gave me a look of sympathy,
But I simply smiled and so,
He returned it back then guided the way.
-PjS
15.10.23
2023-12-17 08:02:34
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