One word, then another. That’s all Montgomery Stevens asked out of life. Montgomery had been a successful shop owner (selling mostly books, newspapers, and various sundries), but was now comfortably retired with a military pension. This allowed him time for his poetry, but he was a failed poet. If he’d been dependent on his writing to survive he would have starved years prior. Every day Montgomery wrote, and most days he completed at least one poem.
Montgomery remained unpublished.
Not everyone can be saved;
some fail and fall,
and never rise.
The cries of the damned
from those of the holy.
A black soul is a soul...
screaming into a void
Pain is better tolerated than
misery; loneliness only a gift,
Now I lay me down to sleep,
I pray the Lord my Soul to keep
If I should die before I 'wake,
I pray the Lord my Soul to take.
The New England Primer
Oh what a tangled web we weave,
when first we practice to deceive!
Sir Walter Scott