He writhes in his wilted sadness
Sullen in rotting thoughts
A relapse of vision
Where hope turns brown
Falls from the ancient giants
And all that remains
Rotting on the forest floor
Is wet envy
And
Desparate suspicions

Robbed of the ability to trust
When all that remained was a frayed crocheted blankie
And a rubber-faced monkey
Forehead sliced
Tattered shirt torn
And a small wooden rocker

He doesn’t rock anymore
In his aging body, with his aged heart
But he remembers
The slim moments of comfort
As night fell
And he sat, rocking,
Alone
With a rubber-faced monkey
Alone
In the sullen darkness