The World he lived in...

he smiles sorrowfully as he watches the sun go down....countin vaguely in his already rusted memory.....n' increasin the counter of sunsets....undoubtedly, it's his last spring....his back glued to the easy chair....as broken as he...n' every deep breath that he takes is a symbolic tribute to every taciturn heart beat of his....which in turn acknowledges all those tired breaths that resembles some part of a conspiracy theory.

his brain no longer able to visualize what his eyes actually see....but concieves his own pattern from those indistinct figures that he makes in his environment...n' he relates incidents n' occurings with a zero correlation coefficient.....like when he sees that green color pick up truck....he begins to talk about the ranch n' it's sudden arrival in his front yard....which initiates a tantrum as a young one fails to comprehend those relations as he lacks those synapses.

he who once was the pioneer of buryin within his heart even a deluge of emotions....can no longer clandestine even the words that he constructs somewhere between his mind n' heart....n' people quite generously utter words of inadequate n' inappropriate attitude of sympathy when they see him talkin to himself with all the leisureness....but fail to understand that it's not at all an out of the world activity that he's showin...but it's somethin they've been doin all the time...all their lives....his words are only surfacin while their's presently not.

but he involuntarily recognizes a pattern without even puttin any effort....when actually it's the stars that he's gazin upon....n' the cool spring wind adds up to his state of semiconsciousness....when his past is suddenly brought back alive....puttin life to every bit of his senses...which are long dead.....he quickly recuperates ...to find someone to share what he just saw....but how can he find someone when he was lyin in a coffin.

n' he retracts the elusiveness of those ruins of memories....as if he were watchin films of ghosts!....hallucinations of the highest note captures his mind....n' all his thought processes are morphed into one complicated....unrelated...strung collage.....those thoughts are like one giant hologram projected...one on the other.

he sees lovers huggin n' couples holdin hands as he sits alone in a coffee house.....he sees a young mother gettin her daughter a treat at Baskin31Robbins ... as he crosses the street...not very keen to be disturbed by the horns of the fast movin cars.

he sees friends talkin n' laughin together...reminds him of those distant half-past ten story books named "Friendship"....n' he sees himself walkin in the long vacant corridor....with doors openin n' closin by the strong wind....a piece of paper flies off to kiss his face.....which is actually the photograph of the shipwreck..n' as he watches the picture....the dissonant sound of the strong wind turned tempest makes him scary.

n' that fear makes him run...n' he runs like a chamois...n' he finds himself in a beach...the sound of the waves slappin the rocks....resonatin with his shallow heart beats....when he sees a young naked couple in the water....which marks an embarassment in the old man's face in his easy chair....but after a slight alteration of his posture...with a left tilt...he continues his thought process....when he hears the laughter of that couple...behind those echoes of the waves.

just when the telephone rings in the lighthouse.....n' he runs hastily to pick the reciever.....when his "hello" is answered by a "entertain me!"....n' just when he begins for the show....the 2nd phone rings...n' then the 3rd....the 4th .... the 5th ................... with the only words....."entertain me!"....."entertain me!"....."entertain me!"....."entertain me!".....n' when he tries to please 'em all....his every attempt turns out to be a failed one...resemblin the chain reaction in a nuclear fission....but those rings multiply in decibels n' he holds his hands to close the eardrums.....eyes fiercely shut....n' he drags his back along the wall till he hides his face between his knees....n' his ears bleed while the phones finally stop.....when all he searches for a phone to dial a number....but those sets don't have number pads.

n' he slowly walks out of the lighthouse....as the sun sets....while he carries his own coffin on his right shoulder....n' a wreath in his left hand....n' he goes on lookin for a space in the country side graveyard....n' he finds himself standin in front of his own fate....who is laughin at him....n' makes the final negotiation with the spot n' the space of his grave....

for it's not a death sentence.....but it's life...

i wanted to fly
...but they stole my wings.
i wanted to live
....when they borrowed by heart.

i looked for a coup de grace
...as i headed for my grave.
... but he says "we're already full"
.. n' won't let me in.

p.s. he dreams for all the calmness...n' the beauty....n' the peace...to fill his brain....but in reality...he goes insane....i know it's already depressin....n' doesn't quite fit in that image of "The Wizard of Oz"...that they're playin.....but in my world...it's kind of funny.....n' almost makes sense!