He left this place as he entered it,
Curled in a foetal position,
Eyes shut, cold and weak
Hid neath’ the sheets behind the
Doorway to his room
His organs lay inanimate, resting under his bones
And his eyes mocked this,
Clung to the inside of their lids
My mother waits by the door,
He hangs on to the banister at the top of the flight
A breathe and his eyes reside near hers…
“He’s dead” he exhaled.
By his bed set she kneels weeping into his hands,
Overwhelmed by the cold hard touch of her man.
How is she to tell her children that their father of strength and prowess
Died like a man of weakness, another man frail ?
Or perhaps that behind closed doors this man,
Died of a broken heart