A Lesser Prize of Fantasy

The night came fast and loose,
how was a man, that man,
the slaughtered man to see that he was

To become part of the nightly news?

Charles Oliver never wanted anything more in life than to
just retire and open up his shop, an antique shop on the
corners of High Avenue and LeRaye Boulevard.

True to how Fate plays the game of Life,
the rules were changed,
the reward switched to a lesser prize of fantasy
and recognition among the watchers of the 8 o'clock
news.

Last night a man died, no one knew this man, no one
knew what was to become of him before his death,
no one sure how he died. Last night a man died
in the dark and quiet of night in his own home,
no force or entry present, no place or spot blemished
with fingerprints other than Charles Oliver's.

With night fast approaching, there was no where for anyone
to go but to go to bed, to wish that night would end soon,
that morning would come fast and loose, lost among
the sea of others on the streets of the big city.

The night came fast and loose,
how was a man, that man, the slaughtered man to see
that he was now to become part of the city lights, the
city nights, part of the city itself,
with his death.