Witness the kiss upon his brow
while he navigates a narrow chasm
deep within an exponential dream
that challenges his vision no less
than some ruthless scam. And then
he weeps, suffered to stumble barefoot
on a beach laden with golden sand.
Events not nearly copacetic despite
the beach ebullient with glistening gold–
it’s for a tighter grasp of the sand
he dies–so little of it
fails to sift through his hands.
And what of the inevitable pitiless
typhoon now well on its way?
It threatens his very extinction,
total annihilation, humiliating
excommunication from hell,
being twice removed from the dream
that frittered its life away
upon a wave of futile love.
© 2014 Thomas Piekarski
Image “Edgar Allan Poe” © Flickr user kke227