His heart had stopped, the soft beat now gone,
his eyes closed, saw their last.
His fingers grasped at nothing now,
his palms felt nothing, had nothing to hold.
He was long gone from the world
in which he so familiarly lived,
in which he had dreamed of leaving,
one which he bid a sweet farewell,
to travel to another one—
one that was unfamiliar,
one that he knew nothing about,
a dimension he could barely imagine
one he only read about in books,
saw in shows
one he imagined and dreamed about.
What was the dimension—
what did it have to offer him now?
What good is a dimension to a dead man
when this dead man has nothing to live for?
He thought of the dimension
In which he used to live,
the one with his wife Carol,
with his kids Jodi and Anne….
He then thought of another
one which he never thought he would visit—
the one he always dreamed about,
the one that called out to him,
screamed his name,
the black and white dimension
of oddity and fear-a still valley
filled with shadow play and silence.
What was this dimension?
What was its use now that he was
far away and gone?
He was now like a man in a bottle,
a howling man in a bottle,
a black and white dimension—
his own twilight zone.