Sometimes during the times of quiet,
peace,
and isolation,
he leans back,
relaxing on the recliner chair,
that was given as a gift,
from a previous friend.

‘Previous’ friend.
The word stung.
Sometimes the peace,
and quiet,
did more than just
a break from
the sounds of
traffic.

A quiet reminder of
beliefs previously
held.
A fairy tale belief,
as most would,
now say.

Supports,
pillars of strength,
a shoulder to lean on,
when he wasn’t strong.

Like a pond,
a beautiful sight,
when calm.
A small drop
of rain,
a gust
wind,
or
an invasion
by another
easily disturbs
the peaceful city.

A yellow flashing icon,
catches his attention.
A request.
He smiles,
grimly.
No one gets off easy.
No
one.

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