One Angry Hippie

He was one angry hippie. Peaceful and calm as can be
with undeniable rage and pain inside. Like the Incredible Hulk.
Manic and depressive.

It all started at the tender age of sixteen. Was it the hormones
or the serotonin? Like a shovel to the face.
It came out of nowhere.

The only thing he blessed, was peace. It said so in his name.
Romantic, yet, shy. Angry and sly.

Lately, he has been enjoying walks in the fall rain.
Also, climbing and not falling. Pulling and hanging.

Dangling. By the toes.
Orange skies and blue nights.
Children. Laughing and playing
and crying and sleeping.
Begging for more.

He has no more to give.
Not until tomorrow.

-Benjamin D. Bain
September 23, 2006