not a true poem

Alone together; an ocean of arrowed reason
Whose confidence binds and tightens
Where no wrong turn remains
Only one chart left, if that.

He eyes barren cluttered floorboards
Starving stuffy silent hallways
Twenty years devoured
All the good parts gone.

Children’s voices filling, unfiltered
He shuts away toys, stains
Out of their shared room
Where he sighed his life away.