A short poem I wrote years ago. |
I take a look down the street and This is what I see: Through the fog it comes To me. I'm on a street corner And the light's changed twice If I go home now it's over And that will not suffice. Carry me, deeper, deeper So I can share a silence with my soul's keeper And I look upon, with newborn eyes, This is what I see: The druggie. You see him sit, he looks defeated, His tears are all long depleted And maybe he hoped, For hope But hope Is fleeting Just like this tired travesty. That man's a smarter man Than many and I could ever Hope to be. He and I had sat alone, As he had spoke of worlds unknown, And as he did, he opened up A bit of insight inside me: Why does his gifted curse, Give such demons unto he? Why does that relief of braincells Cause him such tranquility? His mind's a journey (Like ours the same) A question burns before it's o'er, But now that's tamed. Because of this bowl of greens Those pills like sugarcoated dreams That question falls between the cracks To lay him back, help him relax Until too late It floods like blood And we come to Our current scene. From him there's no wisdom left to glean. And I see why now to go, would be my undoing scheme. |