A chilled Soul
No drama, no scandal
just a stillness that settled over rooms
like dust motes in afternoon light.
Grandmothers loved him for the bow,
the morning hello
low and unhurried.
Grandfathers saw the toiling in his hands,
the markings of greatness.
At the village square,
the young ladies whispered
He's the fairest of them all
And the young men
Knows his aura is different
Graced and heavily endowed
Last night he died in his sleep.
No sound. No witness.
In darkness and in silence
He gathered his bags of dreams
like a traveler who knows
the train won't wait.
The world will not see his like again.
Leave a comment behind