I once came across a poem by Robert Service titled “A Hero” that really struck me. While in that poem the subject resolves to kill himself before succumbing to the urge to act out, I thought I’d try putting a poem together that looked back over having prevailed over such a demon. And I know such people are out there.
The Manuscript
His story lies completed on the desk,
printed up in Times New Roman font,
stuffed within the gape of small black jaws
opened up so wide it seems they’ll break.
A ream of cover letters, neatly stacked,
all set to be dispersed in search of alms,
awaits the manuscripts as they are drawn
from off the output tray to be critiqued.
He knows beyond all doubt it will be published,
that it will be awarded highest praise,
for it reveals his journey through a darkness
that nearly swept omnivorous destruction
through countless lives across his span of days—
and how he slowly learned to curb his demons.
This is my 7th Petrarchan sonnet.
