Black Bag

The winding weaving thoughts of grieving,

Call him home to do his thieving,

Take all the memories before silently leaving,

Into a black bag placing each reminiscent thought,

Of past times joys now best forgot,

For all the pain they came to wrought,

Bag caring shadow slips out back door,

There’s nothing in there any more,

His job is done he leaves for evermore,

Without a past he could start a new,

He was more successful in the redo,

He became a more powerful man than the one he once knew,

Well connected the famous he came to meet,

Rich he lived in penthouse sweet,

He was known as one of the world’s elite,

But despite all he had come to gain,

Slowly his fleeting joy did wane,

And he was sub come by unknown pain,

So in misery in bed he lay,

For so many a day,

Wasting his life away,

Gray in hair an idea finally came to his head,

Finally regretting the life he had lead,

He searched for something long left dormant beneath his bed,

Little time left his skin did sag,

As he once again looked upon a dark black bag,

He opened it and out rushed his long lost soul,

And then this man he died…but he died whole.