Burying an old Man
As I lower this casket into the ground,
I painfully aware of the lack of people around.
No friends or lovers left to say good bye,
They're just happy to let the old man die.
But here I stand, the only one
I won't leave until the job is done.
They said he had a really lonesome life,
That no one loved him, not even his wife.
That he had doubts at every turn,
All he ever felt was emptiness burn.
But I know that's not true,
Way deep down, he loved too.
But fear and pain, they stripped of his name,
Until the purpose of life he thought was vain.
He always hesitated, always felted baited.
Worried that the world would leave him suffocated.
He couldn't bring himself to trust,
He was afraid his heart would bust.
And that's what I see on this mans grave-stone,
That because of all these things he died a-lone.
The worst part of this whole story you have yet to see,
Because the person that I'm burying is me.
Andrew Hinton's Other Poems
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