The mind's carnival is closed to the public.

No longer does he beat his chest,

his Tarzan cries are all but whimpers,

the libido  crawls with a limp,

his chase becomes a walk.

The tent that housed his harem ways collapses,

 while the carnival of pleasures comes

to a rusting halt.

The book of life containing memories lived

fades to pages blank

with the letters of the alphabet

strewn across the floor,

the jigsaw is now over.

While anxiety reaches fever pitch,

he cowers in the corner,

death beats on the door knocker loud,

echoing down the empty hallways of mind.

Below shadows gather on creaking floors

outside waiting, there's little light

in the offerings.

Reviews

[Patricia Wedel]

The Jigsaw is now over.... a puzzle with a picture
etched in my mind where nothing is familiar except
the fragrance of the flowers by the garden was.
truly, Pat

[jacob erin-cilberto]

this reminds me of the poet who once beat his chest bragging about his ability to write...and then losing that ability...and having offerings with little strength in his Tarzan yell.
j.

[andrew mitchell]

Lol that is funny, thank you Jacob