Lavender-Scented Incense - Calvin Yardley

A man in rags looks down at his hands. 

He wonders how he ended up; 

what mistakes he made to land where he did. 

He recalls his youth, what little of it he had, 

taken from him in the name of maturity. 

His parents shouting at one another, 

in the dead of night, three sheets to the wind. 

How he prevented them from coming to blows, 

and how he would come to live in a broken home. 

He recalls his adolescence, a monochrome time, 

for which he holds no love. 

The pressures of academics worsening, 

‘til he sought a way out. 

How he recovered in a hospital bed for ten weeks, 

and found the world he returned to very cold, and very lonely. 

He recalls his college years, all the better, 

his best time by far. 

How he learned of all manner of things, 

that which gave him pause, filled his head with questions. 

How he found a boy, discovered all manner of things, 

and had it all come crashing down ten weeks later. 

He recalls his decline, now coughing and shivering, 

where he is now. 

How, in time, he was ousted, jobless, homeless. 

The sores, the bleeding, the hatred, the fear. 

Seen as subhuman. 

Rejected. 

He draws his last breaths. 

He sees his first love. 

How tenderly they held each other, 

how afraid they were of being found out. 

How he hid it all, 

yet let the memories warm him in the coldest of nights alone. He exhales, free of regrets, save for one. 

To just have one more day with him. 

“If I am to die for simply loving, let death be as sweet an embrace as his was.”