A Date For Mona

When he gave any thought at all,
to Mona's lovely smile he bawled.
He couldn't help that the tears fell,
as he held his daughter Michelle.

Moments, when all hope was gone,
insanity sneaked in quiet like a yawn.
Where once he was happy and free,
a dark cloud had covered all reality.

The bedroom, that room of amour,
locked, bolted, nailed shut, the door.
Windows painted black sun not let in,
sealed shut  like the wall of Berlin.

The land, the countryside did not alter,
only his heart, cold, hard like Gibraltar.
Passiveness and all the normal judgment,
were cast aside with intellectual descent.

He lay on a bed of nails, his body bled,
punishment for living with Mona dead.
He lived in filth, his mind on one issue,
his brain zeroed in on what he had to do.

The moon, so bright, so vast and so pale,
shinned on the paper he read like Braille.
A finger on each letter, then on a word.
to not believe its message was absurd.

A mild and quiet man had been his way,
but he felt like he had been betrayed.
A tempest so awful had befallen him,
causing a plan to fight but not in a gym.

Man, when pushed can and will hit back,
that is why this man was in this evil shack.
The map in his shaking hand lit by candle,
was given to him by one wearing sandals.

He walked all night, the moon did its part,
hid behind clouds, he'd memorized the chart.
The arid wind stung his face as he trod,
alone, but armed, with the grace of God.

Armies had searched and came up short,
but tonight he was going to hold court.
It was the time, tonight was for Mona,
last time he saw her she wore a kimono.

He was not alone on the desert tonight,
his heart fluttered as he trailed his flight.
Hearing his quarry's shallow gasp, his panic
clear, he had come for him across the Atlantic.

He was there to put to death an evil man,
who had bragged about his killing plan.
Those in the World Trade Towers for one,
Pentagon, woods of Pennsylvania he'd done.

The man no longer ran, he was worn down,
held out his hands, pleading, looking around.
His hands found the throat of Osama bin Laden,
as he died, he cried like a coy maiden.

©March 7, 2004 / Jerry Pat Bolton