Empty Rooms

In empty rooms there are countless breaths
with myriad beginnings and numerous deaths.
The stories always begin with a place,
and old women sitting on street corners.
They also always end with a certain face.
Silently, he roars
to inner tumults and strife.
That rage inside,
is something of a legacy,
a source of pride, a perennial guide.
He always begins to hum as he pours
His drink down the
Drains of his life.