Leave Him to Heaven

Leave him to heaven.
He's tired of hell.
Uneasy endurance.
Funereal bells.

Just leave him to heaven.
No blame. No more shame.
Even he is too tired
to play those old games.

His was always a tragic resistance.
Tension making everything too tight.
An underlying fear that ate through
all too many nights of sleep's evasion.

A drama played out, not existence.
Feeling only what he ought to feel.
But not for real. Only in the complex
way his mind explained it all away.

Someone told him that his sickness
was endearing. Nursemaid, mother -
nurturer supreme. He got to play
through lazy days, while all his friends
were forced to work it out.

Life's energy was growing old, not he.
Or so he told himself in multiplicity.
Closing down a little more each day.
Rose withering within the heat
of burned out summer ways.

Not so easy to forgive as years went on.
The burnt stayed burned beneath
the over-heated Southern sun.
He told himself that he had won,
but never felt that way.

Taking flight to mountain's heights
to settle in another kind of jungle.
Different but the same.
Found in subtleties that
drove him quite insane.

It's happening again.
The same old thing.
There within the changes.
Standing tall as all else slumped -
so vastly rearranged.

So just leave him to heaven.
He's tired of hell.
Just so long as you leave him
it all...

? Michaelette ?

6/12/2005
Copyright© 2005 Michaelette L. Romano
All Rights Reserved
Take me home . . .