Permanent Discoloration of the Mind

He drank from the stream and plowed the land
Rugged way of callouses and promises of tomorrow.
He took to wife a pretty lass who, in turn,
Bore him healthy young sons a plenty.

Months faded into years - time marked by
The creases on his hardened sun-worn face.
Days of making love to his ripening crops,
Fervent nights spent on chores of husbandry.

Alas, the year arrived with fruitless labor
The fields gave birth to nothing save a look
Of disgust in her eyes that tortured his will
And gnawed with greed at his dignity.

The inception of a hint of doubt nagged and probed
Until he sat alone in the far barn with paralytic disquiet of the soul.
Thus he sought deliverance in a bottle of brown nirvana
And a once forgotten .45 still holstered and hung on the dusty shelf.

So now she sits perched atop the garden bench he carved
And finished by hand as gift on their tenth anniversary.
Trying in vain to substantiate her vanity with an invented grief
That bastardizes his legacy and tears that never emerge.