The Man who Died each Night

He lived in a tiny attic, set

Way up on the second floor,

I’d never have known he lived there, but

He left his shoes by the door,

A note tucked into the left shoe said

‘They’re yours if I don’t return!’

The right said, ‘Put on a dead man’s shoes,

And know that you’re going to burn!’

 

The boarding house was for down-and-outs

So you know where my life was at,

The final link in an endless chain

Since they threw me out of my flat,

I had no job, I had no friends

My family moved away,

They hadn’t left an address for me

So here’s where I had to stay.

 

I heard him shuffling past my door

With a walk like bone on bone,

His eyes were dim and his face was grim

And his skin as grey as stone,

I chanced to be in the hallway once

But he just stared straight ahead,

I said ‘Hello,’ but he rattled back,

‘I’ve just returned from the dead!’

 

He’d sit awhile on the balcony,

In the fading rays of the sun,

Trying to tan the greyness out

But the pallor was not undone,

I grabbed a chair and I sat by him

And he finally looked my way,

His eye delved into my very soul,

‘What did you want to say?’

 

‘You look like a man of secrets,’

Were the first words that I thought,

‘Maybe you have an insight into

Things that I might be taught?’

‘There’s nothing here in your life, it’s clear,

That would help,’ he gave a sigh,

‘I only know of the deathly fear

That is yours, when once you die.’

 

‘Nobody knows what happens then,’

I said, ‘for it’s understood,

Once you have left this mortal coil

You’re dead, and you’re dead for good!’

The old man shivered and shook his head

‘I’m the only one who knows,

For I die nightly in my bed

And return when the first c**k crows!’

 

I didn’t believe him way back then,

I hardly believe him now,

But I crept into his midnight room

And I put my hand on his brow.

His flesh was icy cold to the touch,

He had no pulse or breath,

His eyes were pointed up in his head

And I knew he was caught in death.

 

But still he came on shuffling out

In the first grey light of dawn,

After the c**k had crowed, he said,

When his body began to warm,

I asked him what he had seen out there

While caught in the clasp of death,

And he spoke of the chambers of despair

When he finally caught his breath.

 

‘The chambers are lit with a flickering light

From a million candle’s glow,

A million tubs of candlewax

That light up the rooms below,

And set in deep in the candlewax

Is the shape of a human form,

The head protruding just like a wick

Who wish they’d never been born.’

 

‘The flames are burning the tortured flesh

The heads are trying to scream,

I pass along them on right and left

As if it’s a nightmare dream,

But this is the fate of terrorists

And suicide bombers there,

Their one reward for the cause they fought

An eternity of despair.’

 

I turned away and I felt quite sick

At the things death held in store,

And all the other horrors he’d seen

When he’d nightly passed death’s door.

‘How long must you go on suffering this,’

I said, as I turned my head,

But the old man sat in his rocking chair

Quite still, and finally dead!

 

David Lewis Paget

Reviews

[Linda Marie Van Tassell]

" ... mortal coil ... "

"... Who wish they’d never been born ..."

These words really resonate with me. :-)

Like minds must think alike. I've been pondering a poem along the lines of terrorism myself, but in quite a different way.

This poem is dark but sad and as gray as the old man's skin. I almost feel sorry for him.

[Angel]

To be eternally the light that lights the halls of death...how fitting that those who sent so many to their deaths should light the way for them.
Yes, I am impressed...

[Baby Ricochet]

That's a far cry from the 72 virgins line

[Lena M. P.]

Gave me chills to feel the emptiness, the nightly fears, the insight in hell over and over. The man lived in his own form of hell being half here and half there but actually being nowhere. By sharing his torment and that of the others he was finally able to move on. The flow, the human inquisitive nature and the messages throughout were marvelously penned.

[Marie]

But I wonder if he's really and finally dead...?




I wonder what he'd done to have to make this death's journey night after night...