Emptiness is not a disease. <br />It's a state of mind. <br />A perspective. <br /> <br />Cigarette dangling from lips, drink in hand, <br />television softly blacking out the thoughts. <br /> <br />He sits still as a stone in his tomb. <br />He never makes a sound. <br /> <br />He is afraid that if he does he <br />will need to prove his existence <br />is of some value. <br /> <br />But it is not. <br /> <br />He has been told this often enough. <br /> <br />Oh yes, just about everyone he has known <br />has gleefully berated his topics of conversation. <br /> <br />His attempts to be a man. <br />Attempts to be vital. <br /> <br />Parents, siblings, friends. <br />Jobs, wife, children. <br /> <br />All have had their taste of his fear. <br /> <br />Like a mangled orange in a pulper, <br />he has become the symbol of everyone's distaste. <br /> <br />The emblem of failed love, heart <br />as stoned as a rock. <br /> <br />He dosen't dare dream out loud. <br />To do so would invite the <br />smirking scornful remarks. <br /> <br />The wandering of the mind is <br />a dangerous waste of talent. <br /> <br />Emptiness is not a disease. <br />It's a state of mind. <br />A perspective.<br /><br />Chris G. Vaillancourt<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-man-in-the-room/
