The Tattered Man

The Tattered Man

His hair was long and gently flowing
with clothes that matched his tattered look;
I never knew where he was going
but always carrying an old black book.

In the book sometimes a rose
its' petals crushed beneath the pages;
Only the tattered man could know
Perhaps to soothe his silent rages?

His ancient bike was old and slow
it’s wheels so tight and filled with rust;
He rode each day or so I’m told
Perhaps to him it is a must.

One day I stopped him as he passed
saw blue eyes filled with such deep pain;
The black book snugly in his grasp
I knew his life had seen some rain.

Why do you ride this way each day,
the black book always by your side?
Where do you stop along the way,
or do these things you wish to hide?

He slowed and stopped his rusty bike
and with a twist he touched the ground;
He said you don’t know what it’s like
A spacious home and yet no sounds.

You see, I lost my kids and wife
This black book says they’ll live again;
Maybe not now but another life
So I’m just pedaling while I can.

For sometime soon I’ll join them there
A happy time for us to share;
I don’t know when or even where
but then this cross I will not bear.

A tear slid from his clear blue eyes
And showed his grief and sadness;
But he never knew as he said goodbye
He’d touched and filled my heart with gladness.

36 Lines
3rd Place in the Poetic Traditions Poetry Contest ~ Round 2