He sits in wonder at the moment of silence,
That seems to last for days,
And his heart slowly beating,
But to what end, he knows not,
For the one person he thought
Could see him, could feel him,
And would really know where he stood
Seems to have acknowledge
That he doesn't exist.
He's only a dream, a memory perhaps,
But he's not today, nor tomorrow,
And he will never be again.
His life, his meaningless life,
And his love, the love of yesterday,
The love that everyone searches for,
But he gave to her,
Only to have it revoked suddenly
And without warning,
She let go of him,
And didn't even look back.
As if it were not reality-
A fantasy- maybe it was his,
And he just couldn't see,
But now he feels the pain,
The emptiness, the hollow echo
As his heart beats, but for nothing.
His soul, now has been sold,
To the highest bidder,
And then left behind,
Like an old child's plaything-
Left in the back of a closet,
When the family moves away.
Dust covered and tattered.
He shall only go through the motions,
As his life in not worth
The emotions that he once felt,
The ones that haunt his dreams,
Like her voice, her touch
Haunting his body.
He'll sit in the darkness
That is now his life,
For she has taken his light with her,
Extinguishing the flame
That once set his soul ablaze.
Hollow echoing where his heart once beat,
Time has shown him
That the silence that is now,
Was always meant to be.
He was meant to be forgotten.
He was created to feel the pain,
And to warn others with his words,
So that they may know the pain
Of being forgotten without having
To experience it for themselves.
He has been discarded as if he
Was an old child's plaything--
Soon to be forgotten.
Robert J Nye (2008)
