Green Regret

Written in 1999

The young man looks up...
Up at the gray clouds;
The clouds seem to be gray
More than ever, now at least.
He extends his hands above him,
Trying to grab the clouds,
But like everything else
They were way out of reach.
He looked down at his feet,
And a frown took over his face;
His black boots were trashed
And had an uncanny way
Of making the wet grass
Look even uglier to him.
He sat down, paying no mind
To the wet grass under his legs
That was soaking his jeans.
His glance stayed down,
His eyes picked through the grass
Down to the brown dirt,
And tried to penetrate all the way
Down to the molten belly of the Earth.
All seemed to crumble around him,
Life seemed like a blur.
He hated himself and everything else,
To the deadly point of no return;
He ran his fingers through
The cold, green grass,
The pulled some up,
One blade at a time,
And split them down the center.
In his own mind
Each blade was a person
Who had hurt him,
And this was his vengeance.
He looked out at the field,
Green grass spread out before him,
Acers and acers of it,
And he realized something:
He would have to pull up
Each blade of grass out there,
One at a time,
To get his vengeance.
He laid down in the grass,
Closed his eyes,
And started to cry.