In a High School classroom
I read a poem many years ago
about a man who stood before another man
vaguely pleading under his breath
for the other man held a knife
and appeared willing to carry out this act
there was little fight left in him
even before this stranger arrived
for his life had become a succession
of empty days
and long nights dreading the Sun
he had become a victim of his own bitterness
a sad, depleted soul
and he almost welcomed an end

'the blood of fleeing life
and the tears of anguish fell in drops
to the time-worn floor of the dismal room'

such a pitiful fate
even more pitiful is the fact that there was no stranger

'a blinking hotel sign revealed a dead man
lying beneath a mirror smeared with blood
and dried to the image of a stretched palm
many hours later'