Emile Dubois

A fitting tribute

With glazed eyes

Trying to mask a tear

The collective attempt to give presence

To another who was superficially known

Their gasps and laughs almost an act

For all those who never knew him

It merely feeds their own importance

They see it as befitting

They believe it right

They convince themselves it's proper.

In life he was exiled

Nobody really had the time

All run down by zero hours contracts

Living hand to mouth

A piteous existence that prods the inbuilt survival mechanism

In most the preservation of the self

Yes you can dress it up

Yet in the twilight hours when the horizon is reminding us of our own demise

In some, ego still runs wild



  • Jeff

    Very well written..nice job

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