Keyholes

A lonely man treads the broken road, dust lucid on his face.

Worn expression of troubled youth, seeking eyes defined in a sunset eve

The tack of revenge sinks deep in stone; it’s a long long year in a day in his mind



By night time stretches forth, sliver of moon high in these industrial caverns,

He sees the worst in everything; cacti scream insults with sarcasm in their thorns,

In blood splattered dirt lays his reflection, lost in his own pupils, he sees his soul.



A long long night is another year in his mind, the next town on the horizon

Stumbles in, boots trespass invisible prints of past

Tips his hat to the keep, voice scratches for swig of the cheapest drop,

Patrons, aristocrats and peasants look on down, he’s not of these parts

Spinning coin on the bar top stops, knocks it back and staggers to the door

Another small town caught in his steps of frivolous wandering



So pale, skin of a worn dollar bill, through too many hands has this note passed

Light filters through hollow cheeks, you could call this man dead, but a dead mans heart still beats with air in his lungs.



As time grows old, visions escapade clarity, church bells christen twilight with each born day, dusk blue jeans fall in grains of histories past, screaming out “where are you now!”

The cry echoes for the scenery to swallow, every moment, waits to drink,

But not one drop soothes his parched tongue.



That still born cold spills over cracked bones, the mind of insomnia plays tricks in the dark, that night he dreams; a wolf enters the tomb of a king, reborn of pride, suspicious of fate. The grey mist of it’s nuzzle laps at the feet of shackled children staged against time which knows no bounds. Awoken by the howls of his inherent madness, to the truth of long broken wings.



A long long day in his mind, yet each hour passes for a decade.

Still wandering in the halls, each new experience with every door crossed

Open windows forgive him, he climbs through, come in good sir I mean you no harm.