Darkness of a Man

Tired he walked, kicking ground, ground that bared no fruit. Looking at the miles of land ahead, the image was the same. He remembered the picture he had painted so long ago, the family, the farmhouse and the greenest land with orchards tall, as far as the eye could see.

 Memories haunted as the sand swirled up with particles of a past better left alone, a picture burnt with a hellish fire, destroyed by man on uncertain time. . 

Tired he sat, shaded by a tree, a tree with a wooden swing. a swing missing and out of time, for the pink ribbons had faded and the feelings it provided was no longer there. Tired his tears began to fall, dust and emotion combined, mud within a river dripping down.

Tired he sat, clothes of white had turned to red,  fire burning coals of anger, his tears had come to late, was it fate that brought him here, carried from far away for the evil inside to sing, sing a song of pain to bring. 

Burning picture contained it all, the story, how it happened and more, for in the night tired he came to the farmhouse up for sale,   the painting was just a bad dream standing on the ground, protected for the journey ahead, something another one would find. Drink of plenty soothing his mind he thought, filling it instead with sadness and despair, he can give them nothing as this failure of a man. 

Tired he ran from the calls of punishment for under the fire in the soil his act remained, a  memory he would always have of the farmhouse, the family and the barest land. 

As he stopped later far from the smoke and punishment that would come, punishment of his own he had sitting with his gun, clothes that had turned from white to red, battle of scratch marks his body said... one pink, one purple ribbon  and a silver necklace in his hand he had to decide, should this be the end?