He stops his feelings.
They ******* his beams of light.
"Pretend", he exclaims, "just pretend."
That the children have not gone,
or
that
his
marriage fell apart.
"I will not be a spectre of
fallen expectations." he
moans to the skies.
Groaning tissues mutate
into flagons of bitter brew.
Next
comes
the
message.
"I will not hear it."
He is firm in his plan.
Determined in his goals.
A man is a man if he
provides the guise of strength.
Who has ordained this?
Broken eggshells
scattered about him.
His testament, his truth.
"Am I forgiven?"
he asks in bewilderment.
Forgiven by friends, and family,
for
every transgression
completed.
Backwards are fables
mingled with
lost causes.
Resentments.
Forward is
amphibious,
not negotiable,
set in iron.
"I will stay forever
travelling
in the stars
above my head."
This his proclamation.

Now he can rest in peace.