Building a man

I wanted to get some words out of my head today.

Go easy on me; I’ve never written anything like this before…

Building a man

Where once, a stone of a man had stood, left now is a broken body, a heart no good.

A fall from a place so safe and warm, into the depths where only the buzzards swarm.

Into a dark that no one knows, a journey to where not even sea foam blows.

Where the wind and trees don’t get to dance. 

The seeds that are planted don’t stand a chance. 

Absent of stars, moon or sky, where odds are stacked and the wager high.

A hollow void where this man shouldn’t be laid out so bare for all to see. 

Alone and helpless, sinking inside, reaching, gasping, no more alive.

Calm and peace allowing to rest, the sand of time no longer compressed. 

A weight now lifted, drifting away, this is my place, and here I must lay.

But within that depth lies a sound that speaks. 

A drum that beats and refuses defeat. 

A pulse with no rhythm that started to dance, a song with no words played completely by chance.

A hand on my chest; whispers come, now don’t rest. 

The people I love are all put to the test. 

Life being forced, driven and pressed, do what you can and whatever is best.

Next, a bolt is thrown at might, thunder charges, angels they fight. 

Laying claim to a body to which they possess no right. 

The devil he hounds for his pound of flesh, must pay the tollman to get out of this mess.

Eyes start to flutter, showing signs of a spark, lost in the woods, enough of the dark.

Now here lies a man made of stents and stone, glass legs and twisted chest bone. 

A memory so broken that it plays on repeat, a muscle repaired that struggles to beat.

Palms held out and feeling for life, the calm of a voice, the warmth of a wife. 

The storm, now settled and rumbles no more, leaving a man washed up on the shore.

A puppet propped up, unable to stand, stumbling, falling and needing your hand. 

A child again, the world has turned, back to the start. 

This life must be earned.

Now the game starts with building a man. 

The board is set, and the dice have run. 

All the same pieces, but never the same man.

Richard Yeowart Moore

I’m a father of 2 boys, suffered a heart attack followed by cardiac arrest whilst running the Blackpool Marathon at the age of 40.