A Dead Man

The Voices

Here a house stands,
Alone and sacred 
It is a more mysterious place,
With secrets, and booze, and gnarled teeth
There is a man somewhere in there, wondering 
What exactly happened to him 
His spirit stands over where his body used to be
An imprint, an outline lays there 
Not one of chalk or string 
But of memory 

It is mangled, in his picture 
Horrible and terrifying 
Barely a human 
More a pitiful little mouse

It wasn’t long ago when it was removed
He has only just pieced together that he was dead.
There the man is sweating from past adrenaline
He thought himself an old man
Fearing the time leaving him
Until he died 

He was younger than he should have been
Not even 58
Now he supposes he will be 57 forever 

He cannot be sure but
He assumes he had been running
For his life
…
He had failed
That is clearer than the moonlit night
He had lost his life 
Laid to waste
All his potential to grow and regret

Because his life, is soiled
Gone, within the blink of an eye
He only realized after 
Everything from his house was removed 
And his family walking around
Eyes wet from tears 
Nose red from pain

But funny thing
His family cries, 
Yet he has this prickling feeling 
Of a cruel darkness
One of them cried falsely
One of them did this to him…

How strange, he seems it so
It obviously was no accident
He could tell by the puddles that spewed about 
Here and there,

The way he could still feel his heart
Trying to escape 
As if it were a ravenous beast in a cage
The most telling pointer
Was the way they spoke

Words like 
“He was loved by everybody,
Who would ever do this to him?”
This however was a lie

He wasn’t loved by everybody
He was pretty sure the only one who had ever done
Such a confused thing
Was his mother
And he even had his doubts about her

He remembered her bird-like voice
Calling out to him in a storm
Wisped and sweet, but he also remembered
Her eyes, horrified and scornful 
She would never say a negative word
But she would always blink a negative thought

This was his fault
He could see that now
With his newfound gift of wisdom
And his life laid in front of him
If he could picture all the people he had managed
To let down 
Hurt 
Break
Throw away 
He would walk around 
A stumbling toddler
Dropping his blocks here and there

Perhaps it was good that his life ended 
Like this
In the end, he had accomplished everything 
And absolutely nothing at all

He had died someone forgettable 
A man like all the rest
His name would be nothing new
His riches to riches story 
Would bore even the most determined entrepreneur
Now he stands over where his body used to

He can’t remember what happened when 
Only a flying hand, one he assumes was his 
The sound of creaking wood
And the feel of something wet
Spreading across the wooden floor that banged 
As footsteps dragged their way down
Down 
Down 
The stairs of this mysterious home
Filled with secrets, booze, and gnarled teeth

He remembers that day, he saw 
His wife,
His cousin,
His son and daughter,
The butler,
The young newly hired maid,
His best friend,
He supposed the neighbor,
And most obviously his killer

The unfortunate happening 
Was indeed someone’s fault 
But he felt that it was mostly his
If he wasn’t so, stubborn
Or strict or cruel
Or dastardly, or greedy
He did his best
He prided himself on that
But he is seeing that now
His best wasn’t good enough