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LAce Posted Monday, November 15th, 2010
Time.
Emily Stickels

A few elated seconds left,
Until the ‘unidentified man’s` demise.
A last step, as sweet as his very first,
Into constant, delicious rest.

Spindled arms resign to the sky
He dearly hopes soon to join
Letting his best foot sink,
Seep, into the vast nothing,
To lure him to his eager end.

The second sickening time this year,
The nauseous driver cried, ‘Suicide!’ and
Tensed his grey eyes shut to hide
Our unidentified man’s fading form
Like a crisp Autumn leaf lacing the track

Halt! Pressed travellers,
Your journey’s paused as his has ended.

Our executive man loiters, in his firm form,
Nestling his chin into his tailored chest,
Solemn first, baffled next
At how any being could dare dismiss
The honour of life, great and sweet and
Reject it’s pleasures, allow pain’s reign.

Our unidentified man, with no power to predict
The dire affect his last choice had,
That our executive would also meet his death.
For he could not foresee the blackened box
Which charged him, like a startled stallion
Through our executive’s polished frame
On his death-delayed homeward walk

For his death’s crush was no relief,
But a stamp of time’s unruly foot.

Thus, the most pathetic moments
May play a silent, obscure role in
Life’s tragedy,
Every action sketches a potent map
To each man and his neighbour’s destiny.

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