He must be late.
It’s Monday.
Give him a call
Rather unusual he’s not here at all
He’s always the first one in
There must be something wrong, they said
This simply isn’t him.
Ring his landline
Send someone along
He’s never late
There’s something going on.
But nothing’s going on at home
Everything is off
Then it’s all so clear
He is not here
Not with us anymore.
The door knocked in
After four bell rings
The floor holding his body
Pale blue and straight
We’re twelve hours too late, they say
No, twelve years, I realise
Now wise.
We’re way too late
We always wait
Too long
To invade
A Life
With warmth and care
Then dare
To say in one foul breath
It was a painless death.