He Talks Aloud

Image: jplenio @ pixabay

He talks aloud
The sound a
Booming voice in the
Empty corners
Of these empty rooms.
Yet all the mourners
Have long gone.
Still, he has no choice.
Who else is there
To hear but Him?
Or whatever is 
Akin to Him. 

Maybe the neighbours
Think he’s mad.
They see a sad man
Alone
But know he’s not
Squawking on
The telephone. 
He’s in a conference
With ghosts.
Talking and raging 
And venting without 
The least acknowledgement. 

But on he goes. 
Asking questions
Without answers. 
Wondering why he’s
Been brought so low. 
And what are the chances
That it will ever cease 
Before all told. 
Would some sign
Be such a violation?
A crime to offer just 
An ounce of peace?

Instead, just stillness
Between his railings.
And the suspicion
That all his failings
Are willed by some
Unseen current
That he flails against. 
As recompense.
For everything he didn’t do
For her. 
For them.
In the end. 

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